:r';:r:TJJt:;y^^|^r;'~;-^n.':j c.;>:;;^;'J- :;:.:;;:;':^:; -,^'^y.t%..:^ .: ,. 



-J ;*f 



•Uiv0f:ri'f'.\:r(>.>>:ri«f-.' 



..■;;:.-i.'V-:'j.K;- 






;*;(>y;n:-;::tii:*.'?^;;^^:n>;':-^;:;;ir;t.i";;;-:r^:'..n>.r:;i;f': _ 



••■'••t.r:'-^-M!-s'-v-t:v;,'.':iiv 












;i'<L 



,.i*Y..,.- «,•-« .,,-.i.>^^li~'j'^. •♦<.;,,,. <■.'!'; '.•,... •-(iw ■ 



a.r: 






:;;( 






^!:SP:« 



.'.•:.-,.t;j'o;.-vfi.'; 

.>v,....|.,'. 

































;,:u;.;:;t^:-:- 



t^T,; 



rn^^«?1^^;r^,;;^;:rKv:^ _^^ ^ ^__ 



;a; 



"at.;;:;: 






:t:!t.O:: 



'•'.n'*vv^r;:.,'rJw'j'.;r':c.n.'U, 






ifi':ii''^- 












^^fJ^ 



— ,. .cTiiv"' 



-•J'-:; 




^ •::-rrTi:-'Mfvr*.'»-vi':'ri? 













^^^^^^ . \^' ^-- '^ "^ 



,.^' 



^^. ' . 



A^^' '"r. 




































,x\^^' ^/ 









v\ ^ 









0> ^^ *o^ "/• 






^^' 









* v.'' ^?^ 



. -v 



^^' 



'^-. 



%. 



.H f",!. 



^^^ 






^^^ V^' 



^c.. 






v^^ -^^ 






^^. 


















^0^ 



5- --,, ■^'■Jfl V \^" 









cP\.^ 



5><^, 



i"^<> 




T-z-T-c:::::? 






C^^t^^t 




LIGHTS AND LINES 



OF 



IIDIAN CHARACTER, 



AND 



^ttns of fioiinr fift* 



BY 

J. Y. H. CLARK, A. M. 

COR. MEM. N. Y. HISTORICAL SOCIETY; HON. MEM. STATE HISTORICAL 
SOCIETY, WISCONSIN; COR. MEM. NEW ENGLAND HISTORIC 
GENEOLOGICAL SOCIETY J AUTHOR OF " ONONDAGA." 



' Listene these Lines, for some there bethe 
Of love, which stronger is than dethe 
And some of scorne, and some of guile, 
And old adventures that fell while." 

Old English Ballad. 



SYRACUSE: -.'._. 

E. H. BABCOCK AND CO. 

BUFFALO: 

MILLER, ORTON AND MULLIGAN 

NEW YORK: 

JAMES C. DERBY. 

1854. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred 

and fifty-four, by 

E. H. BABCOCK & CO. 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Northern District of New York, 



auburn: 

MILLER, ORTON & MULLIGAN, 
8TBEE0TTPEES AND PBINTBK8. 



PREFACE. 



The title would indicate this to be a work of fiction. Be 
it known, however, that much of it is literally true, and all 
has its origin in fact. There are very few characters por- 
trayed which are not true types of the once living originals. 

The Indian Legends have been carefully gathered from the 
oral registers of the last hoary chiefs of a perishing race. 
Extravagant and unreal they may appear to us — yet they 
believed them. 

The Pioneer Tales and Anecdotes are from the lips of 
those aged men of a past generation, many of whom have 
long since passed away, and their few surviving companions, 
who very soon must surrender their feeble title to mortality. 

Some few of these pieces have previously appeared in the 
New York "Commercial Advertiser," and other papers. 
Some of them may be found in the " History of Onon- 
daga." But most of them are now for the first time 
published. 

Circumstances have niAde the author of this work the de- 
positary of these memorials — the true interpreters of the 
peculiar characteristics of a people nearly annihilated ; the 



IV PKEFACE. 

faithful expositors of the singular customs of a past genera- 
tion, remarkable for its trials, its virtues, and its progress. 

To the Public, these Legends and Tales rightfully belong. 
To the Public it is due that they should be surrendered in a 
permanent form. To the Public they are cheerfully and 
respectfully consigned, confidently trusting in its fidelity, 
candor, judgment, kindness and generosity, for future 

guardianship. 

The Author. 
Manlius, March, 1854. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGK. 

Hi- A-WAT-HA, THE Godly Seer, 1 

Legend of the Lake, ... ... 22 

The Exchantress, 39 

The last of the Ka-soongk-tas, . . . . . 5*7 

The Sacrifice, . . . . . . . . 79 

The Martyr Missionary, ...... 98 

The Chief's Revenge, . . . . . . .122 

The Deadly Feud, 149 

Le Chasseur, ..... ... . 169 

The Island Home, .... ... 184 

The Pioneer, . .210 

The Trials of Border Life, . . . . . . 226 

The Money Diggers, . . 241 

The Bear Chase, •. 269 

The Backwoods Doctor, 268 

Old Rosse and the Panther, 280 

A Bear Adventure, 290 

The Negro Fiddler, 299 

The Wolf Hunt, 311 

The Hermit, 318 

Baron Steuben, .,,..... 831 

The Hon. Secretary s Mistake, ..... 336 

Perils of Travel, ........ 338 

The Frightened Boatmen, ...... 841 

Rattlesnakes, ........ 843 

The Tx)g Cabin Library. 848 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Strange Forgetfulness, 350 

Jack and the Mill, ....... 354 

Qlteer Toddt, . . . . . . '. . 356 

The Best Shot, . . 353 

ScARCiTT OF Linen, 361 

Pioneer Weddings, 363 

Pioneer Courts, 366 

Frontier Punishments, 3*72 

A Word at Parting, • . 3^4 



InMau ftputrs 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEER. 

***** "Towards him they bend 

With awful rev'rence prone ; and as a god 

Extol him equal to the highest in heavfen ; 

Kor failed they to express how much they praised, 

Tliat for the general safety he despised 

His own: — " 

Milton s Paradise Lost. 

Hundreds of years ago, Ta-oun-ya-wat-ha^ tlie Deity 
who presides over fisheries and streams, came down 
from his dwelling place in the clouds to visit the in- 
habitants of the earth. He had been deputed by 
the Great and Good Spirit Ea-wah-ne-u, to visit the 
streams and clear the channels from all obstructions, 
to seek out the good things of the country through 
which he intended to pass, that they might be more 
generally disseminated among all the good people of 
the earth, especially to point out to them the most 
excellent fishing grounds, and to bestow upon them 
other acceptable gifts. About this time two young 
men of the Onondaga Nation were listlessly gazing 



over the calm blue waters of the " Lake of a Thou- 
sand Isles." Daring their reverie, they espied, as 
they thought, far in the distance, a single white speck, 
beautifully dancing over the bright blue waters, and 
while they watched the object with the most intense 
anxiety, it seemed to increase in magnitude, and 
moved as if approaching the place where they were 
concealed, most anxiously awaiting the event of the 
visitation of so singular an object, for at this time no 
canoes had ever made their appearance in the direc- 
tion from whence this was approaching. As the ob- 
ject neared the shore, it proved in semblance to be a 
venerable looking man, calmly seated in a canoe of 
pure white, very curiously constructed, and much 
more ingeniously wrought than those in use among 
the tribes of the country. Like a cygnet upon the 
wide blue sea, so sat the canoe of Ta-oun-ya-wat-ha 
upon the " Lake of a Thousand Isles." As the frail 
branch drifts towards the rushing cataract, so coursed 
the white canoe over the rippling waters, propelled by 
the strong arm of the god of the river. Deep thought 
sat upon the brow of the gray-haired mariner ; pene- 
tration marked his eye, and deep, dark mystery per- 
vaded his countenance. With a single oar he silently 
paddled his light-trimmed bark along the shore, as if 
seeking a commodious haven for rest. He soon turned 
the prow of his fragile vessel into the estuary of the 
" douUe river;' and made fast to the western shore. 
He majestically ascended the steep bank, nor stopped, 
till he had gained the loftiest summit of the western 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEER. 9 

hill. Then silently gazing around as if to examine 
the country, he became enchanted with the view ; 
when, drawing his stately form to its utmost height, 
he exclaimed in accents of the wildest enthusiasm, 
Osh-wah-Tcee ! ! Osh-wah-Jcee ! I * 

. During the observations of the spirit man, (for so 
he was afterwards called,) the two men who had lain 
concealed, cautiously watching all his movements, 
discovered themselves. Ta-oun-ya-wat-ha very civ- 
illy approached them, and after the greetings usual 
at the first meeting of strangers, very gravely made 
inquiries of them respecting their country and its 
advantages, of their fisheries and hunting grounds, 
and of the impediments in the way of the prosperity 
of the nations round about. To all of which the hun- 
ters (for so they were) could give no very favorable 
answers, but briefly stated to him the disadvantages 
they had ever been doomed to labor under, and the 
sufferings they had borne in consequence. 

A degree of familiarity and mutual confidence had 
by this time become awakened in the bosoms of the 
parties, and the greatest freedom of conversation pro- 
ceeded without restraint. The hunters provided for 
their venerable guest a repast of roast venison, who 

* It is known, perhaps, to comparatively few, that Lake Ontario 
and the outlet of Oswego river was anciently, and is now known 
to most Indian nations, especially the remnant of the Five Nations, 
as the Osh-wah-kee, which being interpreted literally, signifies from 
the circumstance here related — " / see everywhere and see nothing.^* 
From this our English name for the river Oswego is derived. 

A* 



10 HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GCDLT SEEK. 

received it in thankfulness ; they smoked the calu- 
met together and were refreshed. 

Ta-oun-ya-wat-ha disclosed to the hunters the spir- 
ituality of his character and the object of his mission, 
after which, he invited them to proceed with him up 
the river, as he had important business to transact, 
and should need their services. After a moment's 
consultation together, the hunters consented to ac- 
company him, and forthwith joyfully attended him 
to his canoe. 

Of the events which immediately succeeded, we 
have not now time or disposition to speak. Many of 
them were truly marvelous, and worthy a place only 
in the pages of Indian Mythology. 

From this, Ta-oim-ya-wat-ha ascended all the lesser 
lakes and explored their shores, placing all things in 
proj)er order, for the comfort and sustenance of all 
good men. He had taught the people of the various 
tribes the art of raising corn and beans, which had 
not before been cultivated among them. He also 
encouraged them to a more faithful observance of the 
laws of the Great and Good Spirit. He had made 
the fishing grounds free, and opened to all, the unin- 
terrupted pursuit of game. He had distributed lib- 
erally among mankind the fruits of the earth, and 
had removed all obstructions from the navigable 
streams. 

Pleased with the success of his undertakings, the 
spirit-man now resolved to lay aside his divine cha- 
racter, and in after years to make his abode among 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEEK. Ix 

the cliildren of men. He accordingly selected for 
his residence a beautiful spot on the shore of Cross 
Lake, {Te-ungTz-too^ as called by the natives.) After 
awhile, he totally relinquished his divine title of Tor 
oun-ya-watrha^ and in all respects assumed the cha- 
racter and habits of a man. Nevertheless, he was 
always looked up to as an extraordinary individual, 
as one possessing transcendent powers of mind and 
consummate wisdom. The name Hi-a-wat-ha^ (sig- 
nifying very w^ise man,) was spontaneously awarded 
him, by the whole mass of people, who now resorted 
to him from all quarters for advice and instruction. 
The companions of the wise man, at a subsequent 
council, were rewarded by a seat in the councils 
of their countrymen, and became eminently distin- 
guished for their prowess in war, and dignified bear- 
ing in the council room. 

After a quiet residence of a few years at his new 
location, the country became greatly alarmed, by the 
sudden approach of a ferocious band of warriors, from 
north of the great lakes. As they advanced, indis- 
criminate slaughter was made, of men, women and 
children. Many had been slain, and ultimate • des- 
truction seemed to be the consequence, either of bold 
resistance, or of a quiet relinquishment of absolute 
right. 

During this signal agitation of the public mind, 
people from all quarters thronged the dwelling of 
Hi-a-wat-ha^ for advice in this trying emergency. 
After a deep and thoughtful contemplation of the 



12 HI-A-WAT-HAj THE GODLY SEEK. 

momentous subject, he informed the principal chiefs 
that his opinion was, to call a grand council of all 
the tribes that could be gathered from the east and 
from the west, that the advice of all might be re- 
ceived ; " for," said he, " our safety is in good coun- 
sel, and speedy, energetic action." Accordingly, 
runners were dispatched in all directions, notifyi-ng 
the head men of a grand council to be held on the 
banks of the lake Oh-nen-ta-ha,'^ 

This council was supposed to have been held on the 
high ground where the village of Liverpool now 
stands. In due time the chiefs and warriors from 
far and near were assembled, with great numbers of 
men, women and children, to hold this important 
council, and to devise means for the general safety. 
All the principal men had arrived, except the vene- 
rable Hi-a-wat-ha. 

The council-fire had been kindled three days, and 
he had not yet arrived. Messengers were dispatched, 
who found him in a most melancholy state of mind. 
He told them that evil lay in his path ; that he had a 
fearful foreboding of ill-fortune, and that he had con- 
cluded not to attend the great council at Oh-nen-ta-ha. 
" But," said the messengers, " we have delayed the 
deliberations of the grand council on account of your 
absence, and the chiefs have resolved not to proceed 
to business, until your arrival." 

The White Canoe had always been held as a sacred 

* Onondaga Lake. 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEEK. 13 

treasure, and next to the wise man himself, was re- 
garded with awe and reverence. It had been depos- 
ited in a lodge, erected especially for its security, to 
which none but the most worthy and noted of the 
chieftains could have access. Hither on this occasion 
Hi-a-wat-ha repaired, and in the most devout and 
humble manner, poured out his soul in silence to the 
Great Spirit. After a protracted absence, he returned 
with a countenance beaming with confidence and 
hope. Being over persuaded by his friends, he re- 
luctantly yielded to their earnest solicitations. The 
White Canoe was carefully removed from its sacred 
resting place, and reverently launched upon the bo- 
som of the river. The wise man once again took 
his accustomed seat, and bade his darling and only 
daughter (a girl of some twelve years of age) to ac- 
company him. She unhesitatingly obeyed, took her 
place beside her A^enerable parent in the devoted ves- 
, sel, and directly they made all possible speed to the 
grand council ground. 

On the apj^roach of the aged and venerable Hl-a- 
wat-ha^ a general shout of joy resounded throughout 
the assembled host, and every demonstration of res- 
pect was paid to this illustrious sage and counselor. 
As he landed and was passing up a steep bank to- 
wards the council ground, a loud sound was heard, 
like a rushing, mighty wind. All eyes were instantly 
turned upwards, and a dark spot was discovered rap- 
idly descending from on higli among the clouds. It 
grew larger and larger as it neared the earth, and was 



14: m-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEER. 

descending with fearful velocity into their very midst. 
Terror and alarm seized every breast, and every in- 
dividual seemed anxious only for his own safety. The 
utmost confusion prevailed throughout the assem- 
bled multitude, and all but the venerable Hi-d-wat-ha 
sought safety by flight. He gravely uncovered his 
silvered head, and besought his daughter to await the 
approaching danger with becoming resignation ; at 
the same time reminding her of the great folly and 
impropriety of attempting to obstruct or prevent the 
designs or wishes of the Great Spirit. " If," said he, 
"he has determined our destruction, we shall not 
escape' by removal, nor evade his decrees." She 
modestly acquiesced in her kind parent's suggestions 
and advice, and with the most patient submission 
waited the coming event. All this was but the work 
of an instant ; for no sooner had the resolution of the 
wise man become fixed and his last words uttered, than 
an immense bird, with a long and pointed beak, with 
wide extended wings, came down with a mighty 
swoop, and crushed the beautiful girl to the earth. 
With such force did the monster fall, and so great was 
the commotion of the air, that when it struck the 
ground, the whole assembly was forced violently back. 
Hi-a-ioat-ha alone remained unmoved, and silently 
witnessed the melancholy catastrophe of his child's 
dissolution. 

His darling daughter had been killed before his 
eyes in a marvelous manner, and her destroyer had 
perished with her. The dismayed warriors cautiously 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEER. 15 

advanced to the spot and calmly Surveyed the dismal 
scene. It was found upon examination, that the ani- 
mal, in its descent, had completely buried its beak, 
head and neck, up to its body, in the ground. It 
was covered with a beautiful plumage of snowy 
white, and every warrior, as he advanced, plucked a 
plume from this singular bird, with which he adorned 
his crown ; and from this incident, the braves of the 
confederate nations forever after made choice of the 
plumes of tlie white heron as their most appropriate 
military ornament, while upon the war-path. 

Upon the removal of the carcass of the monster, 
the body of the innocent girl was found to be com- 
pletely ground to atoms. Nothing could be seen of 
her, that would indicate she had ever been a human 
being. At this appearance, the bereaved and dis- 
consolate parent gave himself up to the most poignant 
sorrow. Hollow moans and distressing sighs, told too 
plainly the bitterness of his heart. He spurned all 
proffers of consolation, and yielded to the keenest 
feelings of anguish and unbounded sorrow. 

He became an object of perfect despair, and threw 
himself upon his face to the earth, dejected and 
disconsolate. The shattered fragments of the inno- 
cent girl were carefully gathered together, and in- 
terred in all the tenderness and solemnity of bitter 
grief. Every one seemed to participate in the afflic- 
tions of the aged and venerable counselor, and to 
sympathize in his sufferings and woe. Still, no com- 
fort came to his soul. He remained in this prostrate 



16 m-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEEK. 

situation three whole days and nights, unmoved. The 
fears of the assembled chiefs were awakened lest he 
might become a willing victim to his own melancholy 
and misfortune. IlTothing had been done as yet in 
the council, and such had been the causes of delay 
that many began to despair of accomplishing anything 
of consequence. Some even thought seriously of 
returning to their homes without an efibrt. At length 
a few of the leading chiefs consulted together, as to 
what course it was most expedient to pursue. It was 
at once resolved, that nothing should be attempted, 
unless the voice of the wise man could be heard. A 
suitable person was thereupon dispatched to ascer- 
tain whether he breathed. Eeport came that he was 
yet alive. A kind hearted, merry chief, named Ho- 
see-noJce^ was directed by the council to make to the 
prostrate mourner a comforting speech, to whisper 
kind words in his ear, and if possible arouse him 
from his reverie. 

After a deal of formal ceremony and persuasion, he 
gradually recovered from his stupor and conversed. 
After several messages had passed between the as- 
sembled chiefs and Hi-a-wat-ha^ he arose and mani- 
fested a desire for food. He ate and drank of such 
as was hastily prepared for him, and acknowledged 
himself strengthened and refreshed. 

He was conducted to the presence of the council, a 
conspicuous place was assigned him, and all eyes were 
turned towards the only man who could with precis- 
ion foretell their future destiny. The subject of the 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEER. 17 

invasion was discussed by several of the ablest coun- 
selors and boldest warriors. Various schemes were 
proposed for the repulsion of the enemy. Ili-a-wat- 
ha listened in silence till the speeches of all were con- 
cluded. His opinion was gravely and earnestly sought 
by many of the surrounding chiefs. 

After a brief reference to the calamity which had 
so recently befallen him, the wise man said : " This is 
a subject that requires mature reflection and delibe- 
ration. It is not fitting that one of so much import- 
ance should be treated lightly, or that our decision 
should be hasty and inconsiderate. Let us postpone 
our deliberations for one day, that we may weigh well 
the words of the wise chiefs and warriors who have 
spoken. Then I will communicate to you my plan, 
for consideration. It is one which, I am confident, 
will succeed, and ensure our safety." 

After another day's delay, the council again assem- 
bled, and all were anxious to hear the words of 
Hi-Orwat-ha. A breathless silence ensued, and the 
venerable counselor began : 

" Friends and Brothers : — You are members of 
many tribes and nations. You have come liere, 
many of you, a great distance from your homes. We 
have convened for one common purpose, to promote 
one common interest, and that is to provide for our mu- 
tual safety, and how it shall best be accomplished. 
To oppose these hordes of northern foes by tribes, sin- 
gly and alone, would prove our certain destruction ; 
we can make no progress in that way ; we must unite 

2 



18 m-A-WAT-HA, THE GCDLT 8EEK. 

ourselves into one common band of brothers. Our 
warriors united, would surely repel these rude inva- 
ders, and drive them from our borders. This must 
be done, and we shall be safe. 

" You — the Mohawks, sitting under the shadow of 
the ''Great Tree^ whose roots sink deep into the 
earth, and whose branches spread over a vast coun- 
try, shall be the first nation, because you are warlike 
and mighty. 

"And you — Oneidas, a people who recline your 
bodies against the 'Everlasting Stone ' that cannot be 
moved, shall be the second nation, because you give 
wise counsel. 

"And you — Onondagas, who have your habitation 
at the ''Great Mountain^ and are overshadowed by 
its crags, shall be the third nation, because you are 
greatly gifted in speech, and mighty in war. 

"And you — Cayugas, a people whose habitation is 
the 'DarJc Forest^ and whose home is everywhere, 
shall be the fourth nation, because of your superior 
cunning in hunting. 

"And you — Senecas, a people who live in the '-Open 
Coimtry^ and possess much wisdom, shall be the fifth 
nation, because you understand better the art of rais- 
ing corn and beans, and making cabins. 

" You, ^^Q great and powerful nations must unite 
and have but one common interest, and no foe shall 
be able to disturb or subdue you. 

"And you — Manhattoes^ Nyacks^ Montaichs, and 
others, who are as the feeble 'Bushes ; ' and you, 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEER. 19 

N'aragansetts^Mohegans, Wampanoags and your neigh- 
bors, who are a 'Fishing People,^ may place yourselves 
under our protection. Be with us, and we will de- 
feud you. You of the South, and you of the West, 
may do the same, and we will protect you. We earn- 
estly desire your alliance and friendship. 

" Brothers, if we unite in this bond, the Great Spirit 
will smile upon us, and we shall be free, prosperous 
and happy. But if we remain as we are, we shall be 
subject to his frown ; we shall be enslaved, ruined, 
perhaps annihilated forever. We shall perish, and 
our names be blotted out from among the nations 
of men. Brothers, these are the words of Hi-a-wat- 
ha — let them sink deep into your hearts — I have 
said it." 

A lon^ silence ensued ; the words of the wise man 
had made a deep impression upon the minds of all. 
They unanimously declared the subject too weighty 
for immediate decision. " Let us," said the brave 
warriors and chiefs, " adjourn the council for one day, 
and then we will respond." On the morrow, the 
council again assembled. After due deliberation, the 
speech of the wise man was declared to be good and 
worthy of adoption. 

Immediately upon this was formed the celebrated 
Aquinuschioni or Amphictyonic league of the great 
confederacy of Five Nations, which, to this day, re- 
mains in full force. 

After the business of the great council had been 
brought to a close, and the assembly were on the eve 



20 HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEBR. 

of separation, Hi-a-wat-Tia arose in a dignified man- 
ner, and said : 

" Friends and Brothers : — 1 have now fulfilled my 
mission upon earth ; I have done everything which 
can be done at present for the good of this great peo- 
ple. Age, infirmity and distress, sit heavy upon me. 
During my sojourn with you, I have removed all 
obstructions from the streams. Canoes can now pass 
safely everywhere. I have given you good fishing 
waters and good hunting grounds. I have taught 
you the manner of cultivating corn and beans, and 
learned you the art of making cabins. Many other 
blessings I have liberally bestowed upon you. 

" Lastly, I have now assisted you to form an ever- 
lasting league and covenant of strength and friendship 
for your future safety and protection. If you preserve 
it without the admission of other people, you will al- 
ways be free, numerous and mighty. If other na- 
tions are admitted to your councils, they will sow 
jealousies among you, and you will become enslaved, 
few and feeble. Eemember these words ; they are 
the last you will hear from the lips of Hi-a-wat-ha. 
Listen, my friends, the Great -Master-of -Breath calls 
me to go. I have patiently waited his summons. 
I am ready ; farewell." 

As the wise man closed his speech, there burst upon 
the ears of the assembled multitude, the cheerful 
sounds of myriads of the most delightful singing 
voices. The whole sky seemed filled with the sweet- 
est melody of celestial music ; and heaven's high arch 



HI-A-WAT-HA, THE GODLY SEEK. 21 

echoed and reechoed the touching strains, till the 
whole vast assembly was completely absorbed in rap- 
turous ecstacy. Amidst the general confusion which 
now prevailed, and while all eyes were turned towards 
the etherial regions, Hi-a-wat-lia was seen majestic- 
ally seated in his white canoe, gracefully rising higher 
and higher above their heads through the air, until 
he became entirely lost from the view of the assem- 
bled throngs, who witnessed his wonderful ascent, in 
mute and admiring astonishment — while the fascina- 
ting music gradually became more plaintive and low, 
and finally, it sweetly expired in the softest tones upon 
their ears, as the wise man, Hi-a-wat-ha, the godlike 
Ta-oun-yorwat-ha retired from their sight, and quietly 
entered the mysterious regions inhabited only by the 
favorites of the Great and Good Spirit, Ha-wah-ne-u. 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

" I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair ; 
I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair; 
I will sit on the shore where the hurricane blows, 
And reveal to the God of the tempest my woes ; 
I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed, 
For my kindred are gone to the mounds of the dead." 

Schoolcraft's Lament of Geehale. 

About one mile and a half west from the village 
of Jamesville, in the town of De Witt, is, perhaps, 
one of the most singularly located bodies of water in 
Western New York. It is situated, as it were, in a 
vast natural well or cavern. The banks are com- 
posed of different strata of limestone ; the southern 
and western portions are nearly perpendicular, and 
in many places, project over the ground below. The 
northern portion is not as steejD, but is too much so to 
be easily accessible. These banks are over one hun- 
dred feet high from the surface of the water, and are 
richly decked on all sides with beautiful evergreen 
shrubs, the forms of w^hich are singularly reflected 
from th^ soft, green, mirror-like surface of the water 
which they surround. The form of this lake is circu- 
lar, and it is about one hundred rods in diameter. It 
has no outlet, but upon the eastern side is a low. 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 23 

marshy ground, through which the water might flow, 
but does not. From the brink of the lake, the shore 
in many places is perpendicular, or apparently shelv- 
ino- beneath. The interior of this vast basin is lined 
with a greenish white marl, and trees which have 
fallen into it are whitened thereby. In several pla- 
ces, near the center, a lead has been lowered by an 
hundred yards of line without reaching bottom ; and 
within fifty feet of the shore, the water is over an hun- 
dred feet deep. The water towards the bottom is 
highly charged with sulphureted hydrogen, and is 
usually at an even temperature of about forty-eight 
degrees, Fahrenheit. Although the water at the sur- 
foce has no very disagreeable taste, yet, when drawn 
from any considerable depth, it is scarcely endurable. 
It is known by the name of "-Green Lake ^' or ''Green 
Pond:' 

In ancient times, the path leading from Onondaga 
to Oneida, the one most frequented as the principal 
highway of the Indians, passed close along the south- 
ern bank of this lake. 

With this remarkable locality is connected a sin- 
gular Indian tradition, the cause of which gave rise 
to the Indian name of the lake still retained by the 
Onondagas, and may be worth preserving. An abler 
hand might give it a dress and coloring which would 
make it as interesting and enduring as any of Roman, 
Grecian or Scottish fiction. 

Of the truth of the tale about to be related, we do 
not pretend to vouch. But that it is a tradition which 



24 LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

has been handed down from generation to generation, 
among a portion at least, of the Onondagas, is true. 
That it has been so transmitted for a long series of 
years, and is even now superstitiously believed by 
them, is equally true. 

Upon a certain day in the seventh moon of a year 
long since passed away and forgotten, at that delight- 
ful season when the ears begin to form upon the 
growing corn, after the days have attained their ut- 
most length, and the sun pours his scorching rays 
most powerfully upon the earth, an Indian woman 
set out from the castle of the Oneidas, to return to 
her own home at Onondaga. It was, indeed, to her, 
a toilsome and wearisome journey, for, in addition to 
a considerable burden, she w^as necessarily encum- 
bered with her first-born, a beautiful and exceed- 
ingly interesting child of about eight months old. Lor 
que was one who could boast of her descent from one 
of the bravest and most influential chiefs of the con- 
federacy in an uncontaminated line. Her dress, and 
that of her darling one, betokened the wealth, as well 
as the dignity and rank of the possessors. She had 
pursued her lonely walk, bearing her precious charge, 
through the heat of the day, which had been op- 
pressive. As the sun lowered towards the western 
horizon, and the cooling breeze of evening made its 
approach, she arrived at the bank of the lake. Being 
extremely fatigued with her day's journey, and the 
moss-covered rocks presenting so inviting a place for 
rest, she involuntarily yielded to the temptation of 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. ' 25 

enjoying it. She loosened the band (to which was 
attached her burden) from her forehead, her child 
was carefully removed from her shoulders, and she 
rejoiced at the prospect of momentary rest. She 
placed the darling object of her affection, as it was, 
lashed firndy to its bark support, against the root of 
a tall, wide-spread elm. La-qiue moved a few steps 
from her loved one, when she turned and gazed in 
ecstacy upon the object of her chief solicitude, and 
quietly sat down in a reclining position, to ease her 
weary limbs. ITer head rested languishingly upon 
her hand, wliile her elbow indented the green, velvet- 
like cushion of the moss-covered rock. She listlessly 
mused upon the charming appearance of the placid 
waters of the lake below, and on the gladness her 
husband would manifest at meeting her again, and his 
joy to see and fondle the pledge of their mutual love, 
and of their safe return. While these things revolved 
in her mind, her darling one seemed to j)artake of its 
mother's feelings and happiness, for it smiled playful- 
ly as it gazed after the watchful eye of its doating 
parent. She fondly caressed it, and again relapsed 
into her pleasurable mood of contemplation, j^fter 
a while, she became refreshed by her resting, and had 
partially resolved to resume her journey, when a slight 
rustling in the adjoining bushes, and a sharp crack- 
ling of the dry brush-wood, roused her from her rev- 
erie. She suddenly started from her mossy couch, 
and cast her eyes wildly around her, to discover if 

possible, from whence sounds so alarming had pro- 
B 



26 LEGEXD OF TUE LAKE. 

ceeded. She feared the stealthy tread of some fero- 
cious animal of the forest seeking an opportunity to 
destroy her harmless offspring, or some strange demon 
of the woods to annihilate herself Her ala>rm,, how- 
ever, speedily subsided, when she observed, standing 
but a short distance from her, a beautiful woman, 
richly habited, in the most splendid and gorgeous at- 
tire. The new and wonderful visitant had approached 
uj)on the path followed by La-qiie^ and smiled most 
wistfully upon her. La-qiie at once becam.e exceed- 
ingly interested in the fascinating appearance of the 
stranger, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction as she 
kindly welcomed the nymph-like traveler to her 
presence. 

The sun had set with unusual splendor, his last rays 
had lengthened the shadows of the trees to their ut- 
most limit, while the pale glimmerings of his fading 
light fiiintly and feebly disappeared in all the silence 
and magnificence of a forest sunset, and solemn twi- 
light caused the surrounding objects to exhibit them- 
selves still more beautiful to the eye, than when beheld 
in the stronger light of day. " Come to me, my sis- 
ter," said La-qiie^ "it is pleasant, in this sequestered 
spot, to meet with a companion. You appear to be 
fatigued with this day's exertions. Take rest, I pray 
you, and we will soon pursue our journey together. 
My home is not far distant ; a cordial welcome shall 
greet you at our humble cabin ; you shall be the hon- 
ored guest of the chief of the N'ations."' 

The stranger cautiously advanced to the spot where 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 27 

lay, unconscious of harm, the smiling infant of La-qiie. 
Her step was soft and noiseless, lier eyes seemed to 
charm by their bewitching glances, and her flattering 
smiles were perfectly resistless. She looked earnestly 
and inquiringly at the lovely infant against the free, 
and then carelessly unbound her own, which had not 
before been observed by La-que, She placed her own 
beside the other, and turning to La-que^ she said, — 
" My friend, I have come a long and sorrowful jour- 
ney from a country lying far to the south. My mis- 
fortunes have driven me hither; my strength has well 
nigh failed me. I am, (she continued faintly,) a prin- 
cess, the only daughter of a great and powerful king. 
But 1 have displeased my royal father. lie continu- 
ally seeks to destroy my darling child ; its brave fa- 
ther, in his wrath he hath slain. Ilis anger is not 
abated, his revenge is not satisfied. Nothing can di- 
vert him from his purpose or cool his passion, but the 
blood of this innocent child. I find no rest — no peace 
for my soul. Hope has nearly expired within me. I 
am desolate and oppressed in spirit. I am an outcast 
from my country, my kindred and my home. For 
myself, I care nothing. But for the safety of the 
precious treasure entrusted to my keeping, my efforts 
are directed. I know not but the spies of my father 
are upon my track. They may be even now listening 
to my voice, or perhaps have an eye ujDon my move- 
ments. I have hitherto exercised the utmost caution 
to escape their snares, and as yet, thanks be to the 
Great Spirit, I have escaped." 



28 LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

Her very voice possessed a charm and melody so 
sweet, that La-qiie thought her speaking, long after 
she had ceased. A magic charm had lulled her al- 
most to repose.- But speedily recovering, she ex- 
pressed herself as one sincerely interested in the 
stransfer's behalf. Her heart seemed to melt in 
sympathy for the sufferings of the wanderer, as her 
mind dwelt upon the circumstances of her distress. 
" My friend," said the stranger, " you can, if you will, 
afford me present and permanent relief," and her 
countenance beamed with a placid smile, her eyes 
sparkled with delight, and penetrated the inmost re- 
cesses of the heart of La-que, who replied, " Say on, 
my sister ; nothing, on my part, shall be wanting to 
make you happy, or to relieve your present distress." 
" I am rejoiced," rejoined the stranger, " to. find a 
friend so kind and obliging in this hour of my ad- 
versity. It soothes my sorrowing heart and revives 
my drooping spirits. Your kindness almost invites 
me to accept the boon I am about to ask. At- 
tend to the voice of my complaining. The Great- 
Master-of- Breath holds our destinies in the hollow 
of his hand ; he is the rewarder of those who obey 
his promptings. And does not his breath even now 
gently pass over us ? Be wise, and heed his kind and 
gentle intimations. 

" The customs of our nations do not forbid the ex- 
change of our children. Mine cannot long escape 
the vigilance of my persevering father, if it remains 
with me. With you, it would be safe. Then take, 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 29 

I beseech yon, my child and nurse it as your own. 
I am not afraid to entrust it with you, altliough a 
stranger. Tlic emblem of our nation is pictured on 
its breast. It will never fade. I will take yours and 
return from whence I came. 'No malice can be 
brought to bear against it. It will be adopted as one 
of our nation, and will be safe from luirm. Do this, 
and Ave shall both be happy. After my father's wrath 
has subsided, I will return and claim my own, and 
restore yours to you. It will be a mutual and happy 
exchange. The wild and master spirits of our race 
will have joy. Mighty events will be wrought by 
it. Our offspring will become ennobled, and we be 
the joyful matrons of a race of kings. Think well of 
my w^ords. They proceed from a desire to promote 
the aggrandizement of our nations. Look yonder to 
our children, as they stand lashed to their supports, 
against the tree ; yours is well formed, and beautiful 
to look upon ; its lineaments are well defined, its pro- 
j)ortions well developed ; its eyes sparkle forth the 
innocence of childhood, while the smiles which dim- 
j)le its cheeks betoken the guilelossness of its heart. 
Its apparel is well arranged and tasteful, and lacks 
no touches and finishings of human hands. Turn now 
to mine." 

Za-que drew near, and beheld one of the most glit- 
tering sights upon which her wondering eyes liad 
ever feasted. The dress of the stranger's child seem- 
ed covered with a profusion of the choicest gems, and 
even the smooth bark upon which it was fastened, 



30 LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

seemed inwrought with gold and precious stones, and 
the bow in front appeared like silver overlaid with 
the richest wampum. The eyes of the stranger's in- 
fant sparkled like diamonds, while its fascinating coun- 
tenance and enchanting demeanor beguiled the affec- 
tions of La-que in its behalf. The dazzling raiment 
of the stranger's child, its beseeching looks, together 
with the sympathy which had already filled the heart 
of La-que^ tempted her in an unguarded, unfortunate 
moment, to consent to the proposed exchange. The 
natural affection of the mptJier was lost for the in- 
stant, in the winning looks and specious appearance 
of the deceitful stranger. Bereft of reason, or at least 
yielding to a spell of temporary delusion, the fatal 
"Word was spoken. " It is mine^ then," said the stran- 
ger, and she thanked her with apparent kindness, 
saying, " It shall always be well with your child ; 
take no thought for its welfare. It will ever be hap- 
py." So saying, like a thing of nought, she twirled 
the infant of La-que in the air aloft, and as if by en- 
chantment it fell upon her shoulders, and smiled a 
last adieu upon its hapless mother. The stranger 
turned from her companion, glided noiselessly from 
her presence and was soon lost from view in tiio dark 
i:ecesses of the forest. 

As slie turned, La-que thought she discovered an 
uncommon harshness about her features. A fiendish 
smile escaped her as she turned away, and a demo- 
niac scowl rested on her brow. A bold, triumphant 
step, as she strode majestically through the woods, 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 31 

bore her from La-que^ who, not till now, began to re- 
alize her nncontroUable situation. A suppressed cry 
from her own loved one, drew out all the tender feel- 
ings of the mother, but an attempt to restore things 
to their former situation was now too late. Being 
obliged to make a virtue of necessity, she sorrowfully 
raised the stranger child to her bosom. It seemed 
to be somewhat changed from its appearance as she 
at first beheld it ; still, the unwary La-que suspected 
no artifice ; her native suspicions had been lulled into 
fatal security ; a magic spell had bound its charm 
around her, and she felt unable and unwilling to com- 
mand herself. At length, arousing from her resist- 
less stupor, she began to comprehend the magnitude 
of her bereavement. A returning sense of folly, 
guiltiness, and shame, compelled her, though reluc- 
tantly, to yield with as becoming a grace as might 
be, to the evil she had done. She reluctantly placed 
the burden which had been forced upon her, across 
her shoulders as was the custom of her people, she 
carefully wrapped the ample folds of her blanket 
around this new object of her care, and with a heavy 
heart, mournfully commenced her journey homeward. 
Tlie last cry of her own dear child rang piercingly 
and without cessation in her ears. Its sobs and moans 
reached the inmost recesses of her soul. She had 
proceeded on her way but a short distance, when she 
felt an uncontrollable scratching, gnawing, and tear- 
ing at her back ; her blanket was drawn from her 
shoulders, her dress beneath was completely disor- 



32 LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

dered, and all her efforts to quiet the disturber of her 
peace were unavailing. Every movement more and 
niore perplexed La-que, and added to the sorrows of 
her heart. She still persevered, and did her utmost 
to maintain her equanimity of mind. Pinally, she 
could bear no longer the troubles which were w^eigh- 
ing her dow^n with grief. . She carefully laid down 
upon the ground the load she had borne. The pre- 
cious ornaments had all disappeared. JSTo lovely in- 
fant smiled upon her gaze, but in its stead, and for 
which, in a thoughtless moment, she had exchanged 
her own dear one, there lay a scaly, disgusting, sick- 
ening — almost unnamable object — a young Alligator. 
"With an air of abhorrence, La-que thrust the vile 
thing from her. In her efforts to disengage herself, 
and from fright, she fell exhausted and insensible to 
the ground. How long before she recovered herself 
and became sensible of her situation, she could not 
tell, but the bright stars spangled the blue arch of 
heaven, and the waning moon shone dimly above the 
eastern horizon. Hours must have passed away, 
while the cool dew of evening chilled the motionless 
limbs of the prostrate La-que,. After a return of con- 
sciousness, she looked wildly around for the hideous 
object she had cast off, but no vestige of it or its 
beautiful covering could be seen. Vacantly and in 
the most desponding agou}^ she retraced her steps to 
the bank of the lake, and in wailing and mourning 
passed the remainder of the night, calling piteously, 
in all the grief and desolation of a bereaved mother's 



LEGEND OF Till-: LAKE. 33 

heart, for her own dear child. Often would she lis- 
ten for several minutes at a time, with feelings of the 
most, intense anxiety, to catch some sound that would 
indicate the spot where might be the resting place of 
her lost and loved little one. At times she fancied 
she heard its wailing voice, when, brightening up, 
and listening, to be assured of the truth, no cry came 
to her relief — no sound could be heard. Her very 
soul became lost in the agony of despair — it almost 
died within her ; and what added to the acuteness of 
her sufferings, she had no one to reproach but herself. 
She paced the bare rock in all the gloom of settled 
melancholy, till the rising sun gilded with its mellow 
rays the foliage of the sombre forest around her. She 
sat piteously and mournfully down, her cheeks were 
bedewed with tears, she clasped her head between 
her hands, and in sighs and sobs gave vent to her 
sorrows. IN'o sound of living thing could she hear 
but herself — no sigh but the faint echo and the gentle 
rustling of the leaves as they w^ere moved by the 
cooling breeze. The dark, deep gulf below would 
have been appalling to a rational mind, but to her it 
seemed pleasant and inviting. Her own dear child 
had been snatched from her by treachery and deceit, 
in a most mysterious manner, and she was inconsola- 
ble at the loss. She could make no atonement to her 
husband, and no satisfactory excuse could she render 
to herself or friends. As a last resort for the calming 
of her sorrow, she leaned over the yawning chasm 
and gazed wildly into the abyss below. The slight- 
B* 3 



34 LEGEND OF THE LAE:E. 

est movement would have precipit-ated her into the 
fathomless waters beneath. As her arms were rais- 
ed, ready to take the fatal leap, she turned her ^jes 
imploringly towards heaven's high arch, and asked 
forgiveness of the Indian's God, for the rash act she 
was about to consummate. A soft voice, as of a min- 
istering angel, gently wooed her ear, and bade her 
" LIVE ! " She eagerly cast her eyes about to see 
from whence the sound, but all was still. Receiving 
this as a command from the Great Spirit, she relin- 
quished the unliallowed design of self-destruction, and 
at once determined to wend her cheerless way towards 
home. Though the distance was comparatively short, 
to her it seemed almost interminable. She revolved 
the circumstances of the preceding day and night, 
over and over again in her mind, and still no bright 
spot lighted her dreary prosjDect. 

There appeared but one way of addressing the sub- 
ject of her calamities to her friends, and she resolved 
upon it with boldness. Summoning all her resolu- 
tion as she approached the door of her cabin, Avith 
a trembling hand she lifted the latch and passed in. 
She could no longer control her agonized feelings, but 
burst at once into a flood of tears. Her husband, not 
observing the child, immediately guessed at the cause 
of her distress. Becoming touched with her grief, 
his feeh'ngs readily assimilated with hers, and he used 
his earnest endeavors to console her and quiet her agi- 
tated mind. She finally resumed her wonted equa- 
nimity and complacency, and related minutely the 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 35 

circumstances of lier bereavement as they had trans- 
pired. He kindly listened, but instead of charging 
her with the least particle of blame, most tenderly 
excused her and reconciled her by declaring his be- 
lief that it truly must all be the work of the wicked 
spirit, and that the good prophet of their nation could 
inform them what means should be resorted to, to re- 
cover the lost child. 

A ray of hope instantly shot across the bereaved 
mother's mind, and in the transport of the moment, 
she thought she could realize the child restored. E"o 
time was lost in consulting the oracle of the nation — 
the aged, the illustrious prophet. Said he, " Wait 
with patience three days, I will then tell you what to 
do." The three days w^ore heavily and slowly away. 
They seemed to them as it were an age. The grief 
of the disconsolate ones w^as expressed by continued 
moans. They perseveringly refused all proffered 
comfort and consolation. At the expiration of the 
allotted time, the anxious pair were waiting at the 
door of the prophet. 

They Avere bidden to sit down and listen attentively 
to his words. Said he, "It Avas the wucked spirit 
O-nees-Jioo-hugh-noo^ in the disguise of a beautiful 
woman who has deceived you and taken away from 
you your child. But the Great Spirit who rules and 
directs all things, has heard its cry and deprived the 
wicked one of his power over it. He saw the an- 
guish of the mother's heart. He has sheltered your 
child from harm. He has taken it to the bosom of 



36 LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

the lake. There you can seek for it, but there it must 
remain. It is now guarded by an enormous serpent 
placed there by the Great Spirit, who continually lias 
his eye upon it. Ko harm can at present come to it 
— it is safe. Go — and upon the higli bank attentively 
listen ; you will hear its cries at the center of the wa- 
ters. They will faintly echo througli the trees and 
quietly die upon your ears. Believe me, and my 
words will prove true. Nothing can turn the eye or 
attention of the serpent from the child, unless an at- 
tempt is made to reclaim it. Think not to get it back ; 
the hrst efforts you make towards recovering it, your 
lives will atone for your temerity. If you faithfully 
do a.s I have told you, and strictly follow my direc- 
tions, your child will always live. It will soon cease 
its cries and enter straightway upon a life of joy and 
pleasure. It will ever enjoy richly the favor of the 
Great Spirit and be happy. Again I charge you to 
remember my words. The Good Spirit Ha-wah-7ie-u 
requires you yearly to offer a quantity of good to- 
bacco, as an oblation and satisfaction for his guardian 
care. Stand upon the bare shelf-rock above, and cast 
the savory offering into the sparkling waters below. 
The first time you do this (and it must be soon) the 
great serpent will retire and be no more seen. But 
if you or your children after you refuse or neglect to 
comply with this requirement in any succeeding year, 
at that season when the leaves begin to fall, the 
wicked one will return, and your child will be des- 



LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 37 

troyed. Go, unci as you regard my saying, so you 
will prosper." 

Faithful to the counsels of the prophet they pro- 
ceeded directly to the lake, and certainly as he had 
predicted, they beheld an enormous monster coiled up 
in a most threatening attitude. His huge spiral folds 
as they enlarged from tlie center, covered an area of 
sev'Cral rods. His eye was not diverted by their ap- 
proach, from the bosom of the lake. They cautiously 
advanced and turned a listening ear to the silver-like 
waters. Judge of their joy as the well-known voice 
of their own darling child greeted their ears. In the 
transport of the moment La-qiie suddenly urged her 
steps towards the awful precipice, forgetting for the 
instant the warning voice of the prophet. She 
thought only of rushing unbidden to embrace the pe- 
culiar object of her affections. Scarcely had her pur- 
pose manifested itself before the monster raised his 
head in anger. He hissed violently in his rage and 
madly threshed the surrounding earth. The very air 
seemed heated with his breath, and smoke and lire is- 
sued from his open mouth with impetuous fury. They 
turned away horror-stricken and amazed. Shame and 
regret for a moment filled their awe-stricken hearts, 
and they willingly hastened to do the simple bidding of 
the prophet. A large bundle of tobacco with which 
they had provided themselves was ceremoniously cast 
into the lake. It seemed to spread itself slowly over 
the whole surface of the waters whose color gradu- 
ally assumed a dark green appearance. The behold- 



38 LEGEND OF THE LAKE. 

ers looked intently and with astonishment while the 
operation proceeded. Thej felt a consciousness that 
the Yv^liole had been devised by the Great Spirit and 
was the work and oj^eration of his hand. They were 
on the point of retiring, when looking to the place 
where the serjjent had lain, he was no where to be 
seen. He had, unobserved, silently disappeared, but 
the print of his place for a long time afterwards was 
plainly to be traced. 

After these events La-que and her husband re- 
turned to their homes, happy and contented, and ma- 
ny a year after this, they regularly visited this re- 
markable spot, and presented their annual oblation of 
tobacco — from which circumstance this lake derives 
its Indian name IvAi-YAii-KOOH^signifying, satisfied 
with tobacco. 

In after years the children and relatives of these 
bereaved ones were charged with the important trust 
of continuing this singular practice, and of transmit- 
ting the sacred rite to their posterity. The custom 
was religiously observed to the time when the white 
people came to settle upon the lands in the vicinity, 
since which, it has been discontinued. But the story 
of La-q\d and her child will not soon be lost from 
among the traditions of the Onondagas. 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 

"Time, as lie courses onward, still unrolls 
The volume of concealment. In the Present, 
As in the optician's glassy cylinder, 
The undistinguishable blots and colors 
Of the dim Past, collect and shape themselves, 
Upstarting in their own completed image, 
To frighten or reward." 

• Coleridge's Eetnorse. 

Thkough the beclouded vista of departed time, 
feeble glimmerings of the superstitions and oral 
chronicles of the Indian race may be dimly traced. 
By successive generations their mythic traditions are 
continually elaborated and magnified. By the pecu- 
liar genius of this extraordinary people, their fabu- 
lous theories are kept alive, with all their wild and 
fanciful extravagance. That which at first might 
have had its origin in truth, is sometimes stretched 
to its utmost tension, and in its attenuation, often di- 
minishes towards the marvelousness of fiction, till 
every vestige of its original truthfulness becomes ob- 
literated. The lively imagination of the savage, aid- 
ed by the emotions of excessive joy or grief, with 
wonderful facility magnifies and mystifies events of 
preceding generations. Each new scene presents a 
a subject upon which his faculties may have power 



40 THE ENCHANTRESS. 

to plaj. The winds and ^YOods, the fields and floods, 
each contribute their share of aliment to enliven his 
fancy. His energies' are prone to recoil within his 
own bosom. Sighs and groans in gloomy solitude 
encircled with evil, unvail the grossest deformities, 
while soft influences, fair scenes and breathing sweets, 
not unfrequently heal and harmonize his disordered 
spirit, and life's best impressions radiate from his 
heart. 

The tradition w^iich is here related, not unlike the 
records of civilized nations, is believed and repeated 
over the council-fire of the red rulers of a perishing 
race, with all the sol>erness of the most substantial 
reality. 

Many hundred moons ago, the most unaccountable 
delusions prevailed throughout all the cantons of the 
original Five Nations. None was more prominent 
than the extravagant notions entertained of witchcraft 
and 'sorcery. A belief, so universal in its spread and 
potent in its operation, oftentimes had the efi'ect of 
blighting the prosperity of the people, and of dimin- 
ishing their numbers ; and at times even threatened 
the depopulation of the country. It seemed as if the 
evil genius of humanity had the ascendency, and pre- 
vailed ; that the basest passions of the heart were 
stimulated to action, and in their operation, debased 
every sentiment of pure and proper tliought. 

It is related, that in the ancient time there was an 
extensive and well organized fraternity of witches and 
wizards, who held their stated niglitly meetings in 



THE ENCIIANTKESS. 41 

some secret place within the Onondaga canton. It 
was well known to all the seers and sages of the na- 
tion who had their country's welfare at heart, and 
who were uninitiated in the arts and mysteries of 
witchcraft, that the machinations of the evil disposed 
were continually seducing numbers to their nocturnal 
revels. The place where their infernal rites and or- 
gies were performed, was unknown to the wisest and 
best. Young and old were alike liable to be drawn 
within the fatal vortex of delusion, and beyond the 
wholesome restraints and influences of reason, reli- 
gion and reform. Long and anxiously did the an- 
cient men of the nation study and seek to find the 
concealed lurking place of these deluded beings. 
Nightly watches were set in every suspected spot 
throughout the canton. A most rigid examination 
was required of every suspicious person, and still, a 
profound and impenetrable mystery vailed every ef- 
fort made at discovery. Long after every expedient 
which wisdom and ingenuity could invent had been 
exhausted without the least symptom of success, a 
faithful old chief, (Ta-lwu-ta-nah-ka^ who, from the 
beginning had, with intense anxiety, watched pro- 
gressing events, resolved, with a determination sealed 
with a solemn vow to the Great Sj^irit, to relieve the 
nation of the foul stain already attached to it, and to 
shield it from imi^ending ruin. His bosom fired by 
the fervent spirit of the most sublime patriotism, 
burned for an opportunity to expose the guilty dis- 
turbers of his country's peace, and bring to punish- 



42 THE ENCHANTEESS. 

merit the notorious offenders. For the Letter execu- 
tion of his plans, he chose for tlie place of liis ob- 
servations a huge rock on the western bank of the 
Ka-soonglc-ta.'^ So sure as the evening star set its 
brilliant vigil in the east, so sure was the cold rock 
greeted with his presence. For many a weary night, 
solitary and alone, he stole away to this dark retreat, 
watching with an eagle eye the surrounding country, 
in hopes of detecting the hiding place of those who 
were participating in tlie unhallowed infatuation. 
The silver moon nightly attested the faithfulness and 
devotion of the aged counselor, and the starry firma- 
ment bore witness of his fidelity and perseverance. 
Weariness never for once came over his watching 
frame. Sleep was banished from his eyelids, and like 
" Patience on a monument," he sat with the most sto- 
ical rigidity, and mourned over the apostacyand degen- 
eracy of his race. On one of those delightful autum- 
nal evenings, when beauteous nature in her wild sim- 
plicity almost outdoes herself, while the gentle wind 
only stirred the dense green foliage of the forest, and 
thronging constellations streaked the sky with mellow 
light, and silent stars lent their feeble rays to enliven 
the scene, and chirping insects' notes faintly broke 
the hush of night, and golden clouds sailed pleasantly 
on in varying wreaths, coursing the blue arch of 
heaven, and gleams of the unrisen moon were gath- 
ered in many a silvery beam upon their misty margin, 
the old chief sat alone upon his beacon rock, wrap- 

* Butternut Creek, one mile south of Jamesville. 



THE ENC1IANTKE8S. 43 

ped in the most profound and solicitous reflections. 
The scene itself was enchanting, and waked many a 
pleasing thought that stirred the soul, and thrilling 
sound that pierced the crj^stal air. Wliile medita- 
ting upon these gathered beauties, and while absorbed 
in anxious thouglits of the traditions and extrava- 
gances of his people, a doleful, deep, and rumbling 
sound suddenly broke the awful stillness, and the 
dismal echos as they fell upon the chieftain's ear, 
roused him to a sense of danger. Startled, but not 
dismayed.; dejected, yet not a stranger to fear, he 
felt no terrors that he dared not brave, ho realized no 
dread that was not already overcome. He calmly 
listened, and again and again were the seeming thun- 
derings repeated. They seemed to proceed from the 
deep, dark recesses of the earth. He bent his listen- 
ing ear to the ground, and imagined he could distin- 
guish sounds of mirthful revelry and clamorous joy, 
amid the rolling din beneath. The more attentive 
his mind was fixed upon the singular phenomenon, 
the more he became convinced it had connection 
with the mystery he had vowed to solve. While 
casting about, undecided upon the course he should 
pursue, he discovered in the distance, dancing about 
among the trees, torches, with blue and flickering 
flame, as if borne in the hands of human beings, mov- 
ing about with great rapidity. For a while his keen 
eye rested upon these unnatural appearances with 
dreamy astonishment, when one by one the fluttering 
lights sunk to tlie earth, and to all appearance were 



44 THE ENCHANTKESS. 

suddenly extinguished. These sounds and sights 
were unusual and foreboding. He left his seat upon 
the rock, and bent his steps with noiseless tread to 
the spot where, as near as he could judge, he had 
seen tbe unaccountable disappearance of the lights. 
Upon his arrival there, he could discover no vestige 
of passing footsteps — no trace of living thing. The 
silence of the tomb reigned throughout. He moved 
about with cautious stillness, listening at every step, 
and the quiet solitude was for the time perfect, and 
unbroken. AVhile anxiously waiting the issue of 
events, a single light cast its dim rays about among 
the brushwood. It was "rapidly moving towards the 
spot upon which stood the faithful chief As it came 
near, he beheld the tall, erect form of a well known 
bravo of his nation. So intent was he upon his pur- 
pose, that he heeded nothing, nor did he suspect the 
presence of any but his fellows. The careless brave 
passed rapidly on. The hopes of Ta-hou-ta-nah-ka 
revived. He followed the zigzag course of the pale, 
dull light through all its mazy wanderings, till all at 
once, the midnight traveler made a sudden halt, cast 
an inquiring glance about him, as if to .be assured 
that all was right, and then with his heel gave seve- 
ral stamps in quick succession. At the same time he 
uttered a comnumding exclamation, the earth opened, 
tlie light and tlic bearer of it instantly disappeared 
in the hollow depths below, and all was dark and 
dismal. To the unutterable astonishment of Ta-hou- 
ta-nah-ka, his ears were suddenly greeted with a burst 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 45 

of the most unearthly sounds. It seemed as if the 
throats of a tliousand demons had been strained to 
produce the horrific jargon, and that the caverned 
earth was inhabited and alive with ranting demons, 
intent only upon riot and tumultuous disorder. Tor 
hou-ta-nah-ka was now satisfied that he had found 
the den and lurking place of those who so long had 
led the people astray with their vile enchantments 
and incantations. With his observing eye, he took 
note of every object around, and marked the spot 
with exact precision. He returned to his village, 
and on the succeeding night, with sundry well cho- 
sen and trusty companions, proceeded to the rock 
upon which he had so long and anxiously watched, 
and there, with the most earnest solicitude, awaited 
the unraveling of the mystery. As the night ad- 
vanced, and everything was hushed in silence, as on 
the former occasion, lights were again seen rapidly 
moving in the distance, and suddenly disappearing 
in the forest solitude. The party on the rock stole 
stealthily along, and by previous marks and observa- 
tions, Ta-hou-ta-nah-Ica readily found the place at 
which so many had strangely and suddenly disap- 
peared. Here the chief stepped apart from his com- 
panions, and in a tliick clump of hemlocks, entirely 
obscured from observation, he stamped violently with 
his heel upon the smooth surface of a flat rock, at 
wliicli signal it immediately opened, and he sunk 
down, down, down through a wide, dark chasm into 
a broad, high, vaulted apartment, dimly lighted by 



46 THE ENCHANTRESS. 

the lurid glare of numerous torches appended to the 
rough and gloomy walls. The interior of this horri- 
ble abyss was appalling indeed. Here, within the 
far off recesses of this vast subterranean room, the 
chief caught glimpses of torches moving rapidly in 
various directions. He adv^anced, and as he drew 
near, the light which at first seemed to shed but dim 
and flickering beams, grew brighter and brighter, till 
at length the place assumed the brilliancy of noonday. 
Strange, fantastic figures glided around and about 
him, till he found himself surrounded by a host of 
beings of the most motley character and bearing, 
some acting like demons, wild with mad frenzy or 
distracted with rage, while others gamboled in merry 
gladness Irke harpies delirious with joy. Under the 
specious garb which covered these denizens of dark- 
ness, the chief discovered countenances familiar to 
him above ground, and among them some of his most 
intimate acquaintances. 

The vagrant host gathered around their unexpected 
and unwelcome visitor, and demanded of him an un- 
qualified explanation of his obtrusive and unceremo- 
nious entrance. To all their requirements he lent no 
willing ear, and left unanswered their inquiries. Ee- 
ceiving no satisfaction from that source, they sought 
by every art that dissimulation or persuasion could 
suggest, to win him to their unrighteous cause. To 
every attempt made towards an adjustment of difli- 
culties, the chief was still unyielding and inexorable. 
Finding him still obdurate, and further and further 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 47 

removed from all hopes of successful conversion to 
their wicked schemes, they dismissed him with every 
token of their disapprobation. While within the un- 
hallowed cavern, he observed one, whose peculiar 
visage eminently distinguished her above the rest. 
Far above her fellows, on an elevated platform she 
sat, and from her superior bearing and commanding 
aspect, seemed to reign sole queen of those realms 
of darkness, and to be absolute ruler over her sub- 
terranean subjects. Her voice was authority, and her 
mandate law. In her hand, instead of a sceptre w^as 
a wand which she waved with dignity and grace. 
Her motions were observed by all around her with 
the greatest subserviency. Kone passed her without 
reverence. J^one listened to her voice but with wil- 
lingness to obey. Ta-hou-ta-nah-ka took note of all 
that transpired, and returned unmolested to his friends 
above ground, who were extremely apprehensive as 
to his personal safety. 

On the morrow a council w^as called. The united 
wisdom of the nation was convened. The story of 
Ta-hou-fa-nah-Jca was repeated, whereupon it was de- 
creed, that all individuals whom he should designate 
as possessed with witchcraft, should suffer immediate 
death. The nation w^as directed to assemble, and the 
suspected were pointed out. Before proceeding to 
pass sentence, the chiefs wdio sat in judgment, gave 
opportunity for all to speak in their own defense. 
When called upon, they severally charged the cause 
of their delusion to a wicked enchantress, who had 



48 THE ENCIIA>N TRESS. 

borne supreme rule in all their assemblies, and was 
the Gole directress of all their ceremonies. She it 
was who had seduced them from their happy abode 
and tlifi ways of rectitude and peace, and had taught 
them in all the arts of sorcery and witchcraft. Upon 
her and not upon them, they thought the punishment 
should be visited. She had held them by the magic 
of her will. She had charmed them by the power 
of fascination, and none had force sufficient to op- 
pose her influence, and none could escape the resist- 
less magic of her charms. The excuse was deemed 
insufficient, and Ta-hou-ta-nah-ha was directed to 
name the guilty ones he had seen in the cavern. The 
chief passed along the rows of people as they were 
arranged on their rude seats, and with the utmost in- 
difference, pointed out those whom he had noticed in 
the cave of the enchantress. Scores, and even hun- 
dreds of both sexes, innocent as well as guilty were 
condemned to death for witchcraft, and were mai'ched 
off to a place appointed for execution, and there, 
without a murmur, they received the punishment 
awarded for their crimes. Death was meted out with 
no stinted measure, and all who were in the least sus- 
pected of dealings with the enchantress were dealt 
with accordingly. The extravagant delusion was car- 
ried to such an extent that a large portion of the se- 
veral tribes had disappeared and fallen victims to a 
blind, misguided zeal for their country's good. It 
was at length solemnl}^ resolved in council, that exe- 
cutions should thereafter cease, and none but ^'■Ocaw 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 49 

nee^'^ tlie wicked enchantress, should be subject to 
death, lest the nation should become extinct. All 
the actors or supposed actors in the scheme of witch- 
craft, had fallen victims to the lamentvible fatality 
except the reputed enchantress. She, in the beginning 
had strangely disappeared, and no tidings of her abi- 
ding place could be gleaned. 

Time rolled on, confusion was banished, order re- 
sumed its place, and under the guidance of the Great 
Spirit, the nation succeeded to its original quiet and 
happiness. Its territorial borders were enlarged, its 
inhabitants increased, and everywhere was found 
prosperity, plenty and peace, in all their ancient plen- 
itude and splendor. In the universal joy that suc- 
ceeded the general devastation, the cause of so much 
misery — the wicked enchantress — was well-nigh for- 
gotten. She had ceased to be a subject of interest, 
and her wonderful workings were only named as 
among the extravagancies of frail and erring human- 
ity tliat had passed away. Although a rumor had 
been diligently circulated through all the cantons, 
long after the destruction of the reputed witches, 
that a strange and wicked woman inhabited a beau- 
tiful cabin in a delightful grove near the Te-tongk-too ;'^' 
still, no one dreamed that it could be the abode of 
the long absent Ocaunee^ for time had nearly effaced 
from memory's leaf the leading circumstances which 
occasioned her notoriety, and everything relating to 

* Cross Lake. 



50 THE ENCHANTRESS. 

the past and her, had been permitted to puisne its 
own oblivious way. 

From the wonderful relations made respecting the 
stranger woman by all who had passed her cabin, and 
the unaccountable disappearance of several distin- 
guished warriors of the nation who it was supposed 
had been lost in hunting or had been carried away 
captive or slain by some secret enemy, it was evident 
that somewhere evil was at work, and that for the 
general welfare an investigation should take place. 
A special council was called in reference to the mat- 
ter, when it was decreed, that the wise man Hi-Or 
wat-ha^ who it was supposed possessed supernatural 
powers, should make an examination and learn the 
facts in relation to the solitary cabin and its singular 
inmate. Si-a-wat-ha was called to the council and 
commissioned in due form to proceed on his errand, 
upon which the blessing of the Great Spirit was sol- 
emnly invoked by all the people, to ensure the suc- 
cess of the undertaking. Before proceeding on his 
mission, he selected from among the tried braves of 
tiie nation, a warrior in w^hom he reposed implicit 
confidence, whose name was Wa-ha Wat-ha-yu^ or 
the Ugly Deatli—2^ very terror to his foes. Arrange- 
ments were speedily made, and in a light canoe the 
two set out from Onondaga, with bosoms beating high 
with confidence and hope. They passed up the Sen- 
eca Eiver a short distance above Cross Lake, to where 
an abrupt bend is made in the stream, and there, on a 
gentle eminence at a little distance from the shore, 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 51 

in a beautiful grove, they discovered a single cabin 
from which the smoke ascended in graceful curls, 
while every appendage looked cheerful and inviting. 

So remarkable was it, and so unlike the habitations 
of the children of men, that Hi-a-wat-ha thought best 
to send forward his companion to learn who were the 
favored occupants of so delightful a residence. Wa- 
ha Wat-ha-yic approached cautiously the borders of 
the charming grounds, and after diligently surveying 
the attractive scene, leisurely ascended the shaded 
avenue to the door of the dwelling. The soft wind 
gently agitated the leaves of the grove, and sweetest 
voices of singing birds everywhere greeted his ears. 
The whole landscape seemed mystically clad in a garb 
of witchery and enchantment, wrapt in the mysteri- 
ous mantle of its own grandeur and originality. 
With a resolute heart and unflinching hand, Wa-ha 
Wat-ha-yu gently raised the latch of the cabin, and 
uninvited, walked in. 

To his unbounded surprise, he was met by a female 
of extraordinary stature, who exhibited features of 
the most forbidding harshness. The greeting which 
she gave him was imperious and rough, but after a 
moment's hesitation and reflection, she assumed an 
air of pleasantness, and profl*ered him a cheerful wel- 
come. She told him she w^as extremely hapi^y to en- 
tertain strangers. " They frequently visit me," said 
she, " though they are not always at liberty to go 
away." Suddenly assuming an austere manner, and 
a gloomy severity coming over her features, in a bold, 



5t^ THE ENCHANTRESS. 

authoritative tone, and deep, hollow voice, she said : 
" Although I use my best endeavors to please my 
guests, and render them happy, still, I have my set 
rules and customs, which must be imj^licitly observed 
by all who visit me, and in no case are my require- 
ments to be omitted. I am," continued she, " the 
special guardian of the beautiful trees, so profusely 
covered with nuts, which everywhere surround you. 
These are the special gifts of the Great Spirit, to me. 
Their fruits are unknown to all mankind but myself, 
and those upon whom I please to bestow them. Long 
have I alone enjoyed the sole possession of these splen- 
did grounds which you see around you. ^N'one have 
dared to question my rights here, and none have 
proved themselves competent to share with me so rich 
a treasure, or fortunate enough to wrest it from me. 
My friend, I am to iuform you that all persons who 
visit this place are treated in the kindest manner. 
Their hunger is appeased with the choicest dainties 
of the land. Their thirst is quenched with the purest 
crystal water from a bubbling spring. Every thing 
here contributes towards happiness and enjoyment. 
Within the limits of my little territory is an inviting 
apartment, whither we can retire and regale oureelves 
with every innocent amusement, and pleasantly while 
away the time in singing, in dancing, and in games. 
After these are past, and before my guest departs, he 
must, as an honorable brave, accept a challenge, and 
consent to a trial of skill at wrestling. The forfeit of 
the vanquished is death. Whosoever falls will surely 



THE ENCIIANTEESS. 53 

die, and the survivor will become the permanent pos- 
sessor of all that surrounds you. If I fall, they will 
be readily relinquished, and these beautiful prospects 
will be yours, and these time-honored trees, and this 
ancient house, and the singing birds which so sweetly 
greet your ears, will also be yours. But if it becomes 
your misfortune to fall, your body will be cast out as 
food for the wild beasts of the forest. The famished 
wolf will rend your flesh. The lean panther from 
afar will snuff your blood, and your bones will lie 
unburied, and bleach and decay in the wilderness. 
The mother-of-the-months^ nor her blinking children, 
will lend their lustre to brighten the solitude by 
which you will be surrounded, nor will \\\q J^atTier-of- 
the-years- lend one cheering ray to light your spirit 
to the realms of bliss. You will be doomed to linger 
forever on the confines of the bright hunting-grounds 
above, reserved only for the brave and good, without 
once partaking of their joys." 

Wa-ha Wat-ha-yic became alarmed at this singular 
proposal, and reluctantly, though firmly, asked leave 
to visit his companion, that he might inform him of 
the ordeal through which he was challenged to pass, 
and the dansier of his situation. This induli!:encewas 
readily granted, upon condition of a speedy return. 
He retired to the canoe, and made a faithful report 
of all he had seen and heard. Upon this, Ili-a-ivat-ha 
gave directions for him to exert his powers, and at the 
same time conferred upon him fresh strength, breathed 
upon him the breath of his spirit, and thereby ren- 



54 THE ENCHANTRESS. 

dered him invulnerable. " Go, now," said Hi-a-wat- 
A<2, " you will prove victorious, and this dread scourge 
of humanity shall be destroyed." 

WorJici Wat-ha-yii returned to the grove of the enchan- 
tress. The wicked woman immediately conducted him 
to an apartment fitted up with peculiar elegance. From 
the openings on either side, in the gayest splendor, 
might be seen the deep green dell, the far-off sloping 
hills, the charming lake surrounded by fairy-like trees, 
dipping their pendent branches in the placid water, 
the running river pressing on to the wide ocean in all 
the loneliness and sublimity of primeval nature, a 
calm bright scene in all the beauteous hues of clouds 
and sunshine intermixed, and the pure air perfumed 
by Nature's breath. Within, upon tables, was spread 
every luxury tempting to wearied humanity. Here 
the enchantress and her guest regaled themselves with 
the freest indulgence. Both did ample justice to the 
choice delicacies prepared for their entertainment, 
and the whole concluded with singing, dancing, gay- 
ety and joy. 

After they were satiated with feasting and hilarity, 
the wicked woman conducted him to her arena_, and 
there, to his utter astonishment, he found himself 
within a strong circular enclosure of stone, from which 
the light of the sun was entirely excluded. It was 
brilliantly lighted by numerous, flaming torches, at- 
tached to the dark and gloomy walls. Within the 
enclosure was a circular blade, extending entirely 
around it a short distance within the walls, leaving a 



THE ENCHANTRESS. 55 

space between. Upon this blade, the vanquished 
party was sure to fall. The space between the wall 
and the fixed instrument of death was occupied as a 
gutter, which bore many and indubitable evidences 
of the unholy purposes to which the sanguinary apart- 
ment had been converted. Although horror-stricken 
at the dismal prospect before him, he was not dis- 
mayed, but felt a firm reliance in his newly acquired 
powei-s, and in the justice of his cause. 

All things being in readiness, exercises in dancing, 
leaping, and other athletic sports, were proposed and 
entered into with zeal and vigor, and many most ex- 
traordinary feats of agility and power were performed 
by both. In all these, the matchless Wa-ha Wat-ha- 
yu excelled his grim and haughty rival. Both, at 
length, became fatigued, and reclined to rest. After 
a short interval, they again entered the lists, and a 
trial of strength and skill at wrestling was proposed, 
and the competitors began. The contest soon as- 
sumed an angry aspect, and became more and more 
violent as the chances for victory lessened. Three 
several times did these infuriated antagonists be- 
come nearly exhausted, and as often consented to take 
rest. At the fourth trial, the enraged enchantress at- 
tacked her adversary with unguarded and inconside- 
rate fury. He coolly received her assault, and with 
a desperate effort hurled her from him with deadly 
violence, across the reeking blade. Her head "was 
instantly severed from her body ; a groan, a splash, 
a hollow rumbling sound succeeded, and the intrepid 



56 THE ENCHANTRESS. 

WorhaWat-ha-yu stood alone in the ghastly cliarnel- 
honse of the wicked enchantress. He gazed around 
in mute astonishment at his unexampled success, and 
at once unreservedly poured out his heart in grateful 
and devout acknowledgments to the Great Spirit for 
this manifestation of his special favor. Taking a last 
look at the prostrate body of his adversary, he dis- 
covered that it had suddenly become changed to stone, 
and had marvelously increased in size, still bearing 
the contour and lineaments of the living person. 

After the victory, which was wdiolly ascribed to the 
supernatural agency and influence of Ili-a-icat-ha^ 
the brave returned in triumph to his companion, who 
w^as anxiously waiting his return. He proceeded to 
give a full and strict account of his adventure and 
success, with all possible minuteness. The wise man 
rejoiced, and the warrior was glad, while an exqui- 
site thrill of satisfaction pervaded their bosoms. The 
two moved on with buoyant step towards the late 
habitation of the enchantress, but all traces* of her 
once beautiful cabin had entirely disappeared. ]^o- 
thing was left to cheer the scene but the beautiful 
trees laden with nuts. All around was desolation and 
ruin. The petrified body of tlie enchantress lay ex- 
tended on the earth, and to this day, remains a monu- 
ment of her arrogance and infamy, and is pointed out 
by the wandering red man as the " roch of Ocaunee^'^ 
the enchantress, and is still cherished and revered as 
a perpetual memento of the powers and success of 
Wa-lia Wat-ha-yu^ and of the wisdom of Hi-a-ioat-ha. 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

" The narrow house is pleasant to me, and the gray stone of the 
dead. Let our warriors bend the bow. Ourselves will lift the 
spear. They are a host on the rock ! Our souls are strong in war." 

Ossian's Oithona. 

In tlie early days of our country's history, and ere 
tlie white man made liis permanent abode upon its 
beautiful and diversified surface, the red man held 
this territory by right of gift from the hand of the 
Great Spirit. Nation after nation of his race has 
passed away, and tribe after tribe has rapidly disap- 
peared, until the very name of many of the lesser 
ones, are unknown, and their places of habitation ut- 
terly forgotten. Their hunting grounds have become 
the property of their foes, and their once happy homes 
the white man's dwelling-place. Their ancient pla- 
ces of sepulchre are heedlessly furrowed over, and 
the polished share harshly grates upon their bones as 
the thoughtless plowman turns tlie green sod from 
their graves. Once, unmolested, the forest-man rich- 
ly enjoyed these hills and valleys. His rude cabin 
was made cheerful in the evening by the light of his 
brush fire, and his half-tilled cornfield and untres- 
passed domain, yielded to himself and little ones, 
sustenance and support. For these blessings did the 



68 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

untutored sons of the forest, five times in each year, 
with earnest devotion, yield their thanks and ofi'er- 
ings to the Great Spirit. 

At the time of the first settlement of Onondaga 
county by the whites, there lived within its limits the 
last remnant of a tribe of Indians, who from time im- 
memorial had been subject to the Onondagas, though 
they finally became incorporated with that nation. 
Yet, up to the time of which we write, they had in 
their domestic relations to a considerable degree kept 
distinct. 

They were called Ka-soonglc-tas, and the plain upon 
which they lived was for several years called the 
Ka-soongTc-ta flats, by the whites. It was a beautiful 
opening or prairie, some six or eight miles in circuit, 
about one mile south-east of the present village of 
Jamesville. It was subsequently, for a considerable 
time, called " Morehouse's flats," after Benjamin 
Morehouse, who settled there in the spring of 1789. 
At that time, however, all the country in the State 
of New York, west of the present county of Schoharie, 
had been named Montgomery county, and the terri- 
tory west of "Old Fort Schuyler," (Utica) was erected 
into a town called Whitestown. In the year 1791, 
the county of Herkimer was organized, and the whole 
" Military Tract " was divided into two towns, the 
western, called Peru, the eastern, Mexico. As the 
white population advanced upon these lands, and 
they were surveyed and parceled to the soldiers of 
the New York line, who had served in the war of the 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 50 

Revolution, the Ka-soongk-tas withdi*ew from the soil 
cherished as their own, and sat themselves down with 
the Onondagas within the limits of their reservation. 
The Onondagas, or at least a large majority of them, 
had been unfriendly to the American cause during 
the eventful struggle, and on more than one occasion 
did they signally avenge themselves. In several of 
their excursions, the Ka-soongk-ta warriors took part, 
and among these was Oh-he-hmigh, who had in his 
early youth been honored with the distinguished title 
of war-chief, and was second to none except the re- 
nowned Oundiaga. In those days, this was no un- 
meaning title, and fearlessly had he earned his repu- 
tation. The scalps of his foes had often adorned his 
girdle, and these blood-stained trophies of his prow- 
ess were not few. His hand was against the white 
man, and his heart was relentless and unpitying. 

He often warned his countrymen of the danger of 
quietly yielding to the grasping rapacity and contin- 
ual encroachments of the whites. He was always 
firmly opposed to negotiations for the transfer of 
their lands. But his advice was unheeded, and his 
predictions were ridiculed. The leading men of the 
nation, contrary to his advice, conveyed parcel after 
parcel of their lands, till the pent up tribe had scarce 
a resting place to call their own. In the years that 
succeeded, the clansmen of Oh-he-hnugh had one after 
another passed to their long homes. Tlie vicissitudes 
of war and pestilence had thinned the ranks of the 
warriors, and age and disease had so effectually aided 



60 THE LAST OF ITtE KA-SOO^S^GK-TAS. 

the work of the destroyer, that not one of his kindred 
was left. He felt himself to be the last of his tribe. 
A deep gloom came over his mind, and a settled mel- 
ancholy marked him as her victim. Revenge had 
taken its abode in his bosom. It formed the nucleus 
of all his actions. Around this one passion clustered 
all the efforts of liis active mind ; and in the anguish 
of his heart he exclaimed — "The suns of many sum- 
mers have brightened my path ; fifty winters have 
shed their snows about my head ; the sj)ring of my 
youth is dried up, and the autumn of my declining 
years is upon me. I am a lone and obscure man. 
My fathers lie buried on the green banks of the 01i~ 
jees-twa-ya-na.''^ My kindred one by one have trod 
the upward road to their h^st home. Not one of my 
ancient tribe remains in the green forests they once 
rambled over. Not a drop of tlie pure blood of my 
fathers courses through the veins of any living being 
except myself. I stand single and solitary, tlie last 
of them all. I am like a lone rock on the broad 
prairies, or the rugged oak on the bare mountain 
peak. Oh-he-hnugh is the last of his tribe. No 
scalp-lock of his kin floats in the breeze. He stands 
upon his own bright hills, and sees only the smoke 
rising from the cabin of the pale face. He moves 
over the plain of his fathers and the corn of the white 
man is there. The dusky maids no more greet the 
warriors on their return from the war path, nor move 
gaily in the dance of peace. No more is the fire- 

* Upper section of tlie Buttornut Creet. 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOOXGK-TAS. 61 

fly's flash pleasant to the eye of Oh-he-hiugh^ or the 
hooting of the night-bird to his ear. Long have 1 
withstood the taunts and jeers of the. nations who 
have held dominion over my tribe, and even the cruel 
white man points in derision at Oh-he-hniigh as to 
one who is forsaken, broken in spirit, and bereft of 
friends. The melancholy past and the unknown fu- 
ture alike bid me leave the green vale of my fathers, 
and seek an asylum more congenial to my feelings. 
And shall the Black Slate fear any danger ? Shall 
time or distance change his resolution ? Shall the 
bristling bayonet of the pale face, or the fierceness of 
the long knives, cause him to retreat or deter him 
from his purpose ? N'o ! he '11 go to the Miamis, with 
the Onondagas. llis vengeance shall be meted to 
the oppressors and destroyers of his race, and if the 
Great Spirit wills, his body shall lie unburied on his 
last battle field. The fierce eagle shall take courage 
by feasting on liis flesh. Ilis bones shall bleach in 
the tall grass of the prairie, they shall bhicken and 
consume in its fires, and the grave of the last of the 
Ka-soongh-tas shall not be. The swift wind shall 
scatter his ashes, and at last the Great Spirit shall 
gather them to himself." 

The eyes of the chief rolled fearfully in their sock- 
ets, as he finished speaking. Tie firmly clasped his 
hands together, his brows were firmly knit, he gazed 
wildly and intently upon his lovely plain, as the sun's 
last parting gleam sank below the western horizon, 
and shed its last lingering rays upon the deserted 



62 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

dwelling place of the Ka-soongh-tas. He spoke not, 
but in his heart he bade adieu to the scenes of his 
childhood. 

The resolution of the chief once fixed, he exerted 
himself to attach to his person a brave band of war- 
riors, who with others, would go and assist the West- 
ern Indians, who had become emboldened by their 
successes, and the defeats of Harmar and St. Clair. 
Runners had been sent from the Miamis to various 
tribes, and among others the Onondagas had been so- 
licited to go to their assistance. A considerable 
party most willingly accepted the proposals ofiered. 
A material part of the plan was, that after General 
Wayne should be defeated, (an event confidently ex- 
pected,) a body of Western Indians should accompany 
the Onondagas home, and the victorious warriors fall 
upon the infant settlement at Onondaga and effect its 
destruction. The plan w^as deeply laid, and had its 
execution been attended with success, again might 
the early settlers of this favored country have been 
driven from their new homes. Considerable prepara- 
tion was made for the defense and security of the in- 
habitants. But the timely and grateful news of the 
defeat of the Indians put an end to all fears from that 
quarter, and undisturbed prosperity has since mark- 
ed the progress of the whites. 

The efforts of Oh-he-hiugh were now directed to 
the gathering of his friends, and his success was such, 
that more than a hundred tried braves pledged them- 
seWes to follow his fortunes. A hundred tomahawks 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 63 

gleamed at the word of the war-worn chief, and as 
many knives leaped from their sheaths ready to do 
his bidding. But ere they set out on their perilous 
expedition, they fully prepared themselves by making 
suitable offerings to secure the favor of the Great 
Spirit, and invoked his blessing upon their heads. 
The days of thanksgiving and invocation were con- 
cluded w4th the war dance. As soon after this im- 
portant ceremony was over as the remaining neces- 
sary arrangements could be made, the war party were 
assembled preparatory to taking up their line of 
march. Oh-he-hiugh had used every means within 
his reach to procure all the requisites of arms, ammu- 
nition and provisions. In truth it might be said that 
with all these they were abundantly supplied. Ev- 
erything being in readiness, they left their castle and 
the scenes of their festivity, amid the cheers and re- 
joicings of their friends. 

The courage of the braves had been excited almost 
to frenzy. Their spirits were high, and the enthusi- 
astic joy with which they bade adieu to those around 
them, and the earnest professions of bravery mani- 
fested by word and gesture, seemed as sure harbin- 
gers to victory. Among the numerous countenances 
beaming with joy, animation and delight, there was 
one whose brow was contracted — whose eye swelled 
with earnestness. No smile played upon the lip of 
Oh-he-hvugh. Stern resolution rested upon his fea- 
tures. It seemed to liim that the weeping genius of 
his departed tribe still hovered over him to direct his 



64 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

energies to tlie fulfillment of his destiny. It was no 
dread of coming events that depressed his spirits, for 
his mind was fully prepared for the worst, nor fear 
of death which appalled him, for he had been too 
thoroughly disciplined in the scenes of the past to be 
affected thereby. But it was the doubtful uncertainty 
of the future that gave the chief an uncontrollable 
uneasiness. It caused his heart to become overcast 
with gloom, and his thoughts to assume an unwonted 
seriousness. Feeling a strong presentiment that he 
should never return, he thus addressed the assembled 
chiefs : 

" My friends," said he, " while upon the war-path, 
life is uncertain. It may be I shall not come back 
from the country to which we are going. I wish, 
therefore, according to our custom, to deposit with 
some one whom you may designate, the records I 
have kept of my tribe. Name now my successor, 
and to him, in your presence, will I faithfully trans- 
mit our history." 

An active youth was selected as the successor of 
Oh-hc-lcnugh. To him was committed the important 
trust of forever treasuring in his mind the sacred me- 
morial about to be orally transmitted. This being 
done, he proceeded : — 

" Many hundred moons ago our tribe occupied the 
country in this vicinity. It was surrounded by others. 
Our tribe was then small, and numbered but few — 
and so it was with them. Each managed their aflPiiirs 
in their own way. We all looked up to the Great 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 65 

Spirit as our common father and protector. 'No one 
molested ns or made us afraid. Tlie whole country 
around us served as a common hunting ground, and 
we fished in tlie lakes and streams about us with un- 
disputed right. Our venison and fish were cured by 
the salt made by our Avomen from the springs below. 
All these blessings were abundantly supplied. They 
constituted our j)leasures, our support and happiness. 
We always lived at peace with our neighbors. After 
a long time of undisturbed prosperity, there came far 
from the North, a fierce and strange people. We 
knew nothing of them. At first they professed friend- 
ship ; they afterward excited jealousies among the 
tribes, and finally made war upon them. Those who 
resisted were annihilated. They made war upon us, 
also, and we were overcome. We made, it is true, 
but little resistance, for they had conquered the tribes 
about us. Had we fought with them, we should have 
been destroyed. We thought it better to preserve our 
lives than throw them foolishly away. With them we 
made an honorable peace. We retained our ancient 
privileges, and our hunting and fishing grounds. 
These warriors of the North settled on tlie groimds 
occupied by the tribes they had annihilated. My 
friends, you are the descendants of our conquerors. 
The great confederacy of Five Nations acknowledged 
us as the adopted sons of the Onondagas. You have 
increased and become numerous and mighty ; we have 
diminished and become few and feeble. Our ancient 
tribe is as nothing ; its name is seldom spoken ; it is 



6^ THE LAST OF THE :fcA-S00NGK-TA9. 

swallowed up in the majesty of the mighty Ononda- 
gas. Since our alliance, the history of the Ononda- 
gas and Korsoongh-tas is the same. That is known to 
you all ; I need pursue it no farther. Bear this one 
thing ever in your mind — Oh-he-hiugh is a Ka- 
soongh-ta. Of his deeds in war — of his bearing in 
the council — of his influence with his nation, it be- 
comes me not to speak. When I reflect that my 
brave and valiant fathers stood firm, and fearlessly 
repulsed our enemies of the ISTorth, and successfully 
kept them back till they were made stronger, and 
again turned back the foreign warriors from our soil ; 
when I reflect that one after another of our daring 
braves was driven in and compelled to yield ; w^hen 
I reflect that the noble tribe is, as it were, ex- 
tinct, and its name blotted out from the memory of 
the great nations ; my soul sickens at the thought — 
my heart dies within me. I have done. Remember 
my words. They may be the last you will hear from 
the lips of OK-he-'knughr 

He impatiently but silently waited till the last man 
who was to accompany the expedition was ready to 
leave, when, with a low, authoritative tone, he bade 
the warriors depart. No event out of the common 
routine of march and encampment occurred during 
the progress of their journey ; nor were there any ad- 
ventures worthy of note. 

They proceeded with as much haste as circumstan- 
ces would allow. After a few weeks of anxious toil, 
they arrived within a few miles of the Miami towns, 



THE LAST OF TUE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 67 

and encamped. The long and fatiguing journey had 
in no wise depressed their spirits. Nor was their 
ardor dampened or their zeal moderated. A selected 
band of young men was sent forward by the order 
of Oh'he-linugh^ to inform the Miamis of their ap- 
proach — tliat the Onondagas were near. That they 
were ready to do battle to the utmost of their power 
in the approaching contest, and that their chief was 
willing to counsel and cooperate with the great chief 
of the Miamis and his allies. The deputation pro- 
ceeded on their errand, and after making themselves 
known to their new friends, and declaring their in- 
tentions, they were joyfully greeted and made wel- 
come guests at their lodges. A large party" of Mi- 
amis was immediately dispatched to the camp of the 
Onondagas to welcome them to their country, and 
escort them to their camp. As the Onondagas ap- 
proached the village and encampment of the Miamis, 
the head chief with his followers advanced to meet 
them. Joy beamed in the countenances of the war- 
riors as they met, and gladness cheered their hearts. 
" Hast thou, too, come, Oh-he-hiiighf^'^ said the great 
war chief of the Miamis, as he firmly grasped the 
hand of his ally. " Thrice welcome art thou to our 
council, and our country. Our homes shall be yours ; 
my friends, you have come a long and dreary journey 
to our assistance ; you are weary and way-worn ; you 
must take rest. The homes of my brave warriors are 
at hand. Their warm and open hearts are waiting to 
receive you. Their bright hearths burn to give you 



68 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

comfort. They will feast and dance with the Onon- 
dagas, and they shall be as one people. And thon, 
Oh-he-lcnugh^ shalt be the favored guest at the cabin 
of Mish-i-hin-alc-wa. My friend, it is but lately as I 
slumbered in my cabin that I dreamed of you, and 
the vision was thrice repeated. I thought I had pro- 
ceeded down that wild romantic glen that opens to 
the river ; I ascended the far-oif hill beyond, I gazed 
from its top, my eyes were turned towards the East. 
The rising sun was just above the horizon, its yellow 
rays rested beautifully upon the western highlands 
in the distance, the rough crags were richly illumina- 
ted by its light, the gentle wind scarcely stirred the 
leaves of the trees, and a bold magnificence perva- 
ded the scene. iS'o living being was abroad except 
myself. 

" As I mused upon the wars and the fate which had 
befallen the two white chiefs, who had recently inva- 
ded our country, and the preparations already made 
for another campaign, the thought stole over my mind 
that the Great Spirit wonld again work our enemies 
defeat; that a chosen band of trusty warriors would 
be sent by Him to effect His purpose ; that they 
would come from a far-off nation, and we be rescued 
from danger. Methought as I listened, I heard the 
mighty spirit of^ their chief sigh in the breeze, and 
pant for our enemies' destruction. Methought I heard 
in the distance the stately war-step of a tried and 
valiant band. Methought I saw them one by one ap- 
proach, and cast fuel upon the watch-fire and circle 



THE LAST OF Tin-: KA-SOONGK-iAS, (J9 

around it. Tlieir dim ligures writhed swiftly in the 
war-dance — the deatli-song rang mournfully througli 
my ears — the piercing war-whoop shot fitfully through 
my brain, and I awoke. Five times has the un- 
clouded sun fulfilled his daily task, and sunk to rest 
behind the western hills, since this auspicious vision 
came over my mind. I trust it has no^ come to pass. 
Is it not true? Is it not fulfilled ? For our purpose 
it is enough. A hundred braves of the Onondagas 
are here ; every heart is tried and every hand is 
strong. Ko foe shall oppose their progress, for Oli- 
he-hiugh^ the last of the Ka-soonglc-tas, commands 
them. My friend know this, — upon a plain not far 
distant lies the celebrated white warrior "^^^ Wa-bang. 
Good fortune always attends him. His eye never 
sleeps ; the day and the night are alike to him ; he is 
slowly marching upon our towns. Our old men mur- 
mur at his caution and our young men have become 
impatient of his delays. lie is always watchful and 
secure. The Turtle cannot surprise him — our young 
braves have constantly hovered around him on his 
march, and watched with eagle eyes his movements. 
His sentinels are always set, and never sleep upon 
their posts ; he cannot be drawn out of his entrench- 
ments, nor decoyed into an ambuscade ; he will never 
be attacked unless to his own advantage ; nor will he 
oficr battle without being sure of success. This is the 
kind of warrior we have now to deal with — he lias 

* To-morrow — ^]\Iiami name for Wayne, 



70 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

grown wise by the misfortunes of those who have 
preceded him. He is determined to secure the vic- 
tory, and unless we are valiant, strong, united and 
favored of the Great Spirit, we in our turn will be 
defeated. 

" The Turtle has proposed to the grand council of 
war chiefs lately assembled, to listen to the white 
general's offers of peace. But his counsel is not 
agreeable. It is not acceptable to the young warriors. 
They prefer the charge of cowardice against me. I 
have fought and bled for ray people. I am not guilty. 
I have the welfare of my nation at heart. A majority 
of the chiefs are averse to peace. TVe must fight. 
Misli-i-Mn-dkrwa must wipe off the foul stain at- 
temj)ted to be fixed upon his character, that none 
hereafter shall have occasion to repeat the charge. 
The chief warrior of the Miamis can fight, and even 
die without remorse, but he must not sink dishonored 
to his grave. The council of We-ya-]?ier-sen-waw is 
judged to be wise and good. He is the most distin- 
guished chief of the Shawanese. He is the director 
and leader of all this mighty band of warriors. He 
is bold and fearless, but rash and precipitate. He is 
crafty and subtle, but lacks coolness and judgment. 
Our foes look well to all our doings ; their overtures 
'of peace are construed by our braves into an acknow- 
ledgment of their weakness ; they are deceived ; let 
us beware, and put our trust in the Great Spirit who 
guides the battle." 

" My friend," answered Oh-he-lcnugh^ " I have lis- 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 71 

tened attentively to what you have said, and have 
treasured up your speech in my bosom. But we do 
not think alike. I am im^Delled to say, I came here 
with my brave followers to assist the Miamis, the 
Wyandots, Pottawattomies, Delawares, Shawanese, 
Chippewas and Ottawas. My determination from the 
first was to fight. I have heard nothing to induce 
me to change my resolution. Your advice to the 
council may have been good, and most advisable for 
the welfare of the nations. But for me and those who 
came with me, we came for war and not for peace. 
My only desire is to be assigned an honorable place 
upon the day of battle. As for fear, we have seen 
nothing in the force or courage of the whites that 
need excite it. We know of nothing else can 
cause it. 

" Upon several former occasions we have fairly 
beaten them. The courage of our braves and their 
superior skill efl'ected it. Their ardor is not now less 
— their courage is as high. Every breath sighs des- 
truction. It would be inglorious now to retire. Two 
thousand brave warriors now rest upon their arms, 
and at a moment's warning would be ready to do 
their utmost. It would be unjust to disappoint their 
hopes. Many of them like me have come a great 
distance. It is not best to disperse without a trial of 
our strength. Onr numbers exceed those of our en- 
emies ; we are as valiant as they, and when the time 
of trial comes, depend on it, not a man will prove 
recreant to his trust." 



72 fHE LAST OF TUE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

The preliminaries being settled, and a majoritj of 
the chiefs in council deciding upon a trial of strength, 
there was no alternative but to fight, and every man 
resolved to aid in carrying out the plans adopted, to 
the utmost of his influence and ability. Every prepa- 
ration which savage ingenuity and skill could sug- 
gest, had been made. The ground selected by the 
Indians was admirably calculated to yield them ad- 
vantage in the expected mode of attack, according to 
their rules and modes of defense. The excellent dis- 
position made of their forces displayed a degree of 
military knowledge and acuteness seldom exhibited 
by Indians. 

The Americans, had advanced with the greatest 
caution, and no advantage which discipline or expe- 
rience could yield, was by them unimproved; and 
perhaps in all the annals of border warfare, there was 
never a greater degree of self-confidence in opposing 
forces. Early on the morning of the day which was 
to determine the fate of the contending parties, 
every possible arrangement to promote the work of 
death and to secure victory, had been completed by 
both sides. The sun rose unobscured, and its mellow 
rays, as they flashed across the polished arms of the 
advancing soldiery, and penetrated the openings of 
the forest where lay concealed their dusky foes, 
added brilliancy to the scene. The Americans were 
displayed in two parallel lines, over an open area 
skirted by woods, and their opponents were shrouded 
in an intricate and taui^led forest before them. A 



THE LA.ST OF Tire KA-SOUNGK-TAS. 73 

violent tornado at some previous time had prostrated 
the large trees, and formed for the Indians a kind of 
breastwork and temporary defense. Although they 
were regularly arranged in parallel lines, extending a 
long distance at right angles with the river, still, in 
many places, small parties of two or three had taken 
their places in sheltered positions, ready for the ap- 
proaching onset. 

According to his wish, Oh-Jie-hiugJi^ with his Onon- 
dagas, was stationed in the front rank, and in a posi- 
tion where it was highly probable the advancing 
columns of the Americans would lirst make their at- 
tack, and with almost breathless anxiety and impa- 
tience of delay, waited their arrival. E"o sooner 
were the Americans within fair rifle shot, than a brisk 
and lively fire was suddenly poured in upon their 
ranks. They instantly formed in order of battle, 
and the firing of muskets commenced ; but from the 
sheltered situation of the Indians, the firing produced 
little efi'ect, and served only to increase their ardor, 
and inspire them with renewed courage. The order 
was immediately given to charge, which was executed 
with great gallantry, spirit and eftect. The entire 
front rank had well advanced up to the very muzzles 
of the Indians' rifles, when the whole red host poured 
upon them a most deadly and destructive fire, which 
carried oft' many of the foremost and bravest of the 
combatants. It had not the eft'cct, liowever, to check 
the progress of the advancing party. Urged on by 
the impetuous Wayne and his gallant oflicers, their 
D 



74 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

power was irresistible. The brave soldiers eagerly 
sought the foe in their lurking places, and fiercely 
did the angry contest rage. Often were the bayonets 
of the whites displaced and rendered useless by the 
well directed blows from the Indians' hatchets, and 
often and again were the resolute soldiers compelled 
to yield to the superior agility and skill in close con- 
flict, of their grim-visaged antagonists. Furious and 
bloody indeed, for a while, was the struggle. But 
the steady and persevering courage of the whites, 
and their determined and unflinching bravery, added 
to the regularity and effect which a strict adherence 
to military discipline imparts to the movements of a 
brave soldiery, at length compelled the foe sullenly, 
though reluctantly, to retire. 

In vain did the chiefs urge a renewal of the fight. 
Their forces once broken and routed, their exertions 
w^ere useless. This, to the leading warriors, and espe- 
cially to those w^ho had vaunted highly of their prow- 
ess and of the certainty of victory, was a trying mo- 
ment, and to no one was it more so than to Oh-he- 
hnicgh. The sting of disappointment rankled deep in 
his heart. This sudden reverse in the affairs of the 
day for a moment nearly unnerved him. But quickly 
recovering, he hastily gathered around him the rem- 
nant of his followers, who were now considerably re- 
duced in numbers, several having been slain, and 
others having retreated beyond the influence of their 
chief Nothing daunted, he declared in a short ad- 
dress to the remaining few, his intention of prolonging 



THE LAST OF TIIE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 75 

the sanguinary contest to the last. The dread war- 
whoop echoed loudly through the forest in response, 
and the devoted band instantly resolved to stand firm 
by their chief, and to continue the fight, disputing 
every inch of ground, and if it became necessary, to 
seal with their blood the last efforts of their lives. 
This unexpected rally of the Onondagas for a moment 
stayed the impetuosity of the conquering whites. 
Their surprise, however, was only momentary. They 
rallied in their turn, and advanced with renewed ar- 
dor, pressing upon their, foes with the most daring 
resolution. 

The leaden messengers of death sped from the un- 
erring rifles of the Indians, and told woefully upon 
the advancing ranks of the whites. The little band 
were, by superior numbers driven from one sheltered 
position to another, and so closely were they followed, 
that the contest was carried on mainly with the hatchet 
and bayonet. During the running fight which con- 
tinued, Oh-he-lc)iugh and his men gained a position 
which secured to them perfect protection, and for a 
time, baffled the efforts of their pursuers to dislodge 
them. Their numbers had become sadly reduced. 
Only thirteen resolute spirits were left unscathed on 
the sanguinary field. And such was their vigilance 
that scarce an enemy could show his head but it 
was pierced by a shot from a true-sighted Onondaga. 

The main body of the Indians had fled, and the 
greater part of the whites were in pursuit. The com- 
mander of the whites, learning the state of things, 



76 thp: last of tiiI': ka-roonok-tas. 

ordered a reserve body of Kentucky militia, to drive 
the lingering Indians from the field. With the most 
determined resolution they advanced, but ere they 
had accomplished half the distance, a general dis- 
charge of Indian rifles laid many with the gronnd. 
JSTothing daunted, the remainder rapidly proceeded 
to the spot where the red men were gathered. Al- 
ready had Oh-he-hnugh and his party re-loaded their 
pieces, and another discharge told heavily upon the 
advancing ranks. The whites instantly rushed up 
almost to within arm's length of their enemy. At 
this period of the awful strife, there was a momentary 
suspense. Face to face, the combatants looked each 
other defiance. Each measured the powers of his 
adversary to continue the conflict. 

The brave chief of the Onondagas spoke a word of 
encouragement to his comrades : " The Great Spirit 
now smiles upon our exertions," said he. " The last 
of the Ka-soongh-tas and his followers must not yield. 
ITever let it be said they turned their backs upon 
the pale face. I have vowed to die npon this field. 
Who of you is now willing with me to seek glori- 
ously a warrior's death? Our last blood must be 
freely shed — our work is almost done — the sum of 
our vengeance is full. We sink honorably to rest in 
the arms of the Great Spirit. I am satisfied, and in 
peace." Again the deadly tomahawk and glittering 
bayonet suddenly clashed, and were made red in the 
running gore. 

One after another of the brave warriors was laid 



THE LAST OF THE KA-SOOXGK-TAS. 77 

low, and fast were the files of their enemies thinned. 
Suddenly the high-souled Oh-he-l'riugh stood alone. 
His companions lay helpless around him, and but 
three of his foes were left to prolong the strife. 
The brave chief entrenched himself against a tree, 
and the surviving assailants rushed upon him with 
the fury of desperation. The clubbed rifle of the 
chief laid the foremost low as its shivered stock 
pierced the brain of the victim. At the same instant 
he received a fearful thrust from the bayonet of one 
of the last slain soldier's comrades. It laid bare 
the warrior's ribs, and the point reached the shoulder 
blade. Disabled, but not spirit-broken, covered with 
dust and blood, panting with fatigue, and nearly ex- 
hausted with exertion, the hero still defied them to 
the combat. 

The battle now became more dreadful and violent. 
Another cautiously approached and attempted to deal 
a death blow with his clubbed musket, but the chief, 
with his strong right hand, wrested the weapon from 
him in an instant, and hurled it at him in defiance ; 
at the same moment, the surviving comrade of the 
disarmed man thrust the chief through his thigh. 
Like lightning, the tomahawk sped from the hand of 
Ohrhe-hiiigh^ and laid low this last assailant. Be- 
ing now completely disarmed, and greatly enfeebled 
by the loss of blood, and scarcely able to support 
himself on his unwounded limb, and suflfering the 
most excruciating pain from the w^ound in his shoul- 
der, ho was entirely disabled from acting in the oflfen- 



78 THE LAST OF THE KA-SOONGK-TAS. 

sive, and completely at the mercv of the remaining 
soldier, who dared not even now approach the living 
warrior. The unsparing, unpitjing white man lei- 
surely reloaded his musket, and deliberately presented 
its muzzle to the breast of the chief. Oh-he-hnugh 
faltered not in the trying moment. With an air of 
triumph, he tauntingly bade the soldier do his work. 
He spitefully jerked the scalp-lock from his crown, 
and dashed it exultingly upon the ground. The re- 
port of the solitary musket echoed harshly through 
the woods, and the last of the ka-soonkg-tas was 

NOT. 



THE SACRIFICE. 

"O, "world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn, 
"Whose donble bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise 
Are still together, who twin as 'twere, in love 
Unseparable, shall within this hour. 
On a dissension of a doit, break out 
To bitterest enmity." 

Shakspeake's Coriolanus, 

The population of the once powerful confederacy 
of the Five Nations was scattered wide over the ter- 
ritory of Western ISTew York. Occupying a soil of 
surpassing fertility, and a country peculiarly diversi- 
fied with beautiful lakes teeming with delicious fish, 
and extensive forests affording abundance of game ; 
governing themselves by mild and simple laws, con- 
genial to their well being and happiness, they had 
vastly increased in consequence above the surround- 
ing nations. By their prowess in arms they spread 
terror among their neighbors, and attained an en- 
viable superiority over all the North American 
tribes. 

Onondaga, situated in the vicinity and around the 
beautiful lake Genentace^ whose sands were reputed to 



80 THE SACRIFICE. 

have been silver, was the central, the great nation 
of the " Aquicmuschioni^^^ or " A^nphictyonic league" 
of the Five nations. The smoke of the grand council 
fire, which from time immemorial had burned on their 
sacred hearth, ascended high to the clouds, that the 
Mohawks and Oneidas on the east, and the Senecas 
and Cayugas on the west, and all other of the sur- 
rounding nations, might know of their glory. Its liv- 
ing light shed its glare through their w4de spread 
country, and its brightness told the warrior and the 
hunter, when far from their home, that there would 
their mighty deeds be recorded. Its spirit was diffu 
sed through the hearts of the braves of the nations, 
and inspired them with renewed energies to deeds of 
wondrous daring. 

Onondaga was early visited by the whites. At 
this period, it is said, they alone could probably mus- 
ter a thousand tried warriors for the field. The whole 
Onondaga valley was thickly covered with their ham- 
lets, and much of the surrounding country was inter- 
spersed with their villages. 

At what precise period the first white persons vis- 
ited this interesting section, it would be difiicult pos- 
itively to determine. Traditionary history and high 
authorities set the time as early as the year 1C35, and 
supposed authentic relics and monumental inscrip- 
tions in the SjDanish language assign a date much 
earlier, one going as far back as the year 1520. The 
French Jesuits very early attempted to establish 



THE SACRIFICE. 81 

themselves and tlie Romish religion in the Onondaga 
valley. At different periods both the English and 
French erected defenses to protect themselves in 
their trade with the Indians, and to secure their alli- 
ance and friendship. Througt| the jealousy of the 
colonists of these rival nations, and in consequence 
of their intrigues with the natives, the settlements 
were as often broken up as formed, and it was not 
till the year 17S6 that Ephraim Webster permanently 
settled in the valley. He had long been acquainted 
with Indian manners — had initiated himself into their 
habits, and was familiar with their customs. His first 
occupation at Onondaga was that of an Indian trader. 
He opened a temporary trading house on the east 
bank of the Onondaga Creek, near its outlet. At that 
time he dressed in Indian costume and spoke the 
several Indian dialects like a native. He was for 
many years previous to his death agent and inter- 
preter to the Onondagas. 

A short time after young "Webster had made 
his habitation among the Indians, he accidentally 
became an eye witness to a rather romantic inci- 
dent, which many of the aged inhabitants yet liv- 
ing have often heard him relate, and the story of 
which may be vouched for as true. It may throw 
a feeble ray of light upon Indian character with re- 
spect to the virtues of fortitude, fidelity and honor, 
which, though not always duly accredited, often 
adorn the savage life. 



82 THE SACRIFICE. 

In one of the lovely villages then so common 
among the Cayngas, lived two young men of tliat na- 
tion. From boyhood they had been taught together 
the use of the bow and arrows, the leap, the dance, 
the exciting toils of the chase, and the mimic arts of 
war. When the innocent sports of youth had given 
place to the sterner occupations of manhood, hand 
in hand they bounded over the hills and shot across 
the plains with an alacrity that knew no limit ; and 
w^ien the wrongs of their countrymen cried for ven- 
geance, they stood side by side, ready for the war- 
path, and woe betide the enemy that crossed the 
track of Man-tin-o-ah and Os-sa-hin-ta. The inter- 
ests of these friends were one. Their amusements 
and occupations were similar. Their desires and 
wishes were alike. Their lives and fortunes were 
completely interwoven one with the other, and their 
whole souls seemed bent on seeking methods to pro- 
mote each other's happiness. It could hardly be sup- 
posed that a friendship so intimate, and of so long du- 
ration, could possibly be shaken. But inevitable fate 
would have it otherwise. 

In a neighboring village lived Kali-yan-sa^ the ad- 
mired of all, the beloved of her nation ; she was 
young, gay, and b^utiful — sprightly as the gazelle, 
timid as the fawn, and graceful as a fairy of olden 
time. The young warriors often wandered in com- 
pany to the dwelling of the fair one. It is not to be 
wondered at that their visits were frequent and pro- 



THE SACRIFICE. 83 

tracted ; they delighted in her society and in each 
other's. They were willing and welcome visitors at 
the dwelling of Kah-yan-sa^ and were always loth to 
leave. She received their visits with pride and satis- 
faction. She loved to listen to the tales related of 
their feats in the chase, their prowess in arms, and 
their lofty bearing in the council room. As yet, she 
had regarded them only as friends to herself and to 
each other. She honored them as the ready cham- 
pions to avenge the wrongs against their country, in- 
flicted by the foeman. The fireside of her parental 
wigwam was often and again made cheerful by the 
presence of the two friends, and the hours always 
wore smoothly and pleasantly away. 

On a time, the two young friends set out on differ- 
ent hunting parties, not by design or from choice, for 
had they been left to themselves they would have 
passed on together. But the old men directed, and 
in those days, among the Cayugas, the young men 
obeyed. Success had marked their progress in many 
a weary toil and danger — bear and deer had fallen in 
numbers before them, and their boldness and address 
could not be exceeded. After an absence of several 
weeks, the party to which Man-tin-o-ah belonged, re- 
turned richly laden with skins, and the more substan- 
tial burdens of the chase. The old men and women, 
the children and youthful maidens, went out to wel- 
come them on their return ; feasting and dancing fol- 
lowed ; all things passed on in the usual routine of 



84 THE SACRIFICE. 

aboriginal amusement and thanksgiving on such occa- 
sions. One of the first places to which Man-tin-o-ah 
bent his steps after his return, was the cabin of the 
fair Kah-yan-sa ; for the magic name had become 
more and more endeared to him, as absence had ri- 
pened his hitherto tender impulses to perfect love. 

She received him with extended arms, and now 
openly avowed what before she had scarcely dared 
to breathe. The tender passion as it existed between 
them, was pure and reciprocal. It increased. Each 
sought happiness in the society of the other, and could 
find little enjoyment elsewhere. Days passed fleet- 
ingly away. All things proceeded in the calm sun- 
shine of rational fruition. At length the party to 
which Os-sa-hin-ta belonged, returned also. They, 
too, had been successful, and fortune to him had not 
been less propitious than to his friend. He, too, has- 
tened to the dwelling place of the kind-hearted Kah- 
yan-sa. He entered, but the open smile of gladness, 
as at other times, dimpled not her cheek. An em- 
barrassed greeting, and a "cool, uninviting welcome, 
only heightened the surprise of Os-sa-hin-ta. Unob- 
served until now, Man-tin-o-ah sat in a reclining pos- 
ture, in full view before him ; his countenance was 
composed, yet a dignified smile played over his fea- 
tures, which told too plainly the triumj^h of his feel- 
ings. As the vivid lightning flashes over the clouded 
heavens, so passed this startling secret across the mind 
of Os-sa-hin-ta. As the pealing thunder succeeds the 
streaking flash, and impresses its effects upon the soul, 



THE SACRIFICE. 85 

SO entered this stinging disappointment into the 
wounded heart of this neglected man. In an instant, 
he saw through the whole matter. He forebore to 
express his displeasure, and retired in sullen silence. 
His former friend had become sole possessor of the 
affections of her he had secretly, though ardently, 
loved. A deadly and irreconcilable hatred settled in 
the breast of Os-sa-hin-ta. l^o sooner w^as the fact 
revealed to him that he was rejected, than his resolu- 
tion was fixed. The world was not wide enough for 
Man-tin-o-ah and Os-sa-hin-ta^ and he speedily re- 
solved to sacrifice his early friend at the shrine of his 
vengeance. 

Not long afterwards these two rivals met in a se- 
cluded 'place, and Os-sa-Mn-ta thus accosted Man- 
tin-o-ah: " You and I have for a long time loved each 
other ; our friendship was sincere ; I trusted it would 
always remain so. Oft, in times of difiiculty, when 
danger was near, have we effectually assisted each 
other. x\nd in seasons of peril, when despair seemed 
hovering over our destinies, it has been our mutual 
good fortune to afford his friend relief. Our cares 
and trials, our perplexities and difficulties, our bles- 
sings and evils, have been borne w^itL the kindest 
feelings towards each other ; we have been linked to- 
gether in the unbroken chain of friendship. But the 
time of our separation has come. Our joys and 
friendships must here have an end. Hereafter, we are 
enemies ; you have supplanted me by taking an undue 
advantage of me in my absence. You have sought 



86 THE SACRIFICE. 

to win tlie fair Kah-yan-sa. You have succeeded too 
well ; hereafter I remain on earth only to be misera- 
ble. I cannot bear to see so rich a treasure in the 
possession of another. The pale moon has often been 
a faithful witness to our attachment, and the stars 
cannot number our mutual acts of friendship. Much 
I regret it, but they must all have an end. Ere the 
rising sun shall gild the tops of the trees on yonder 
hill forest, the soul of Man4in-o-ah will be winging 
its way to the mansions of the Great Spirit who gave 
it. Know this: you must die; prepare to meet your 
end." 

The high-souled Man-tin-o-ah disdained an expla- 
nation. He listened to the voice of the chafed Os-sa- 
hin-ta with the most stoical indifference, in the proud 
consciousness of rectitude. As Os-sa-hin-ta finished 
speaking, he suddenly drew from his girdle a bur- 
nished tomahawk; at the same time his blanket 
dropped from his shoulders. With a high extended 
arm and a piercing yell to give it power, and a mo- 
tion quick as thought, the tried steel was ready for 
its work. A glittering sunbeam flashed across the 
dreadful weapon as it was about to descend on the 
head of Man-tin-o-ah. But the practised eye of his 
antagonist was not closed to his doings, for while the 
polished instrument of death was poised ready to 
give the fatal blow, the trusty blade of Man-tin-o-ah 
pierced the heart of Os-sa-hin-ta^ and he fell power- 
less to the ground. Man-tin^o-ah retired to his cabin 
in mournful silence, and brooded over this unlocked 



THE SACRIFICE. 87 

for calamity with the most poignant sorrow. The 
body of Os-sa-hin-ta was found, and dark suspicion 
rested on Maii-tin-o-ah as a guilty murderer. He de- 
nied not the charge, nor did he seek to palliate insin- 
uations. His lofty pride and haughty bearing for- 
bade him to say, "I did it in self-defense" — lest the 
people of his nation should suppose he said so to save 
his life. He disdained to flee. He boldly deter- 
mined to meet the consequences, let them be what 
they would. The first suspicions were, in the minds 
of his countrymen, confirmed. 

By the unwritten, though acknowledged laws of 
the savage, the nearest of kin to the slain, is the aven- 
ger of his blood. In this capacity was the brotlier 
of Os-sa-hin-ta called upon forthwith to avenge the 
blood of his brother. .But in consideration of the 
long-established friendship which had been so firmly 
cemented, and was now so fatally and unhappily ter- 
minated, and the interference of friends, a temporary, 
suspension of the sentence was granted as a boon 
from the brother of Os-sa-hin-ta. The day, the hour, 
the place and manner of his execution were agreed 
upon. Man-tin-o-ah Avas to retire from the nation till 
the full time should expire, and then return ; all of 
which, on his part, he vowed faithfully to perform. 
Man-tin-o-ah left his native village. Before his final 
departure he repaired to the cabin of the agitated Kah- 
yan-sa, to take of her a last farewell. Of his doom 
and destiny she had been informed. He tendered her 
a formal release from her former vows. She rejected 



88 THE SACKIFICE. 

the proposal with a kind but decisive negation. The 
full tear glistened in her eye, yet it moistened not her 
cheek, but returned unshed to the fount from whence 
it came. She whispered softly in his ear : " In all 
your trials be courageous, be true, perform strictly 
your vows. We will yet be one — if not on earth, we 
will in the presence of the Great Spirit. On the hour 
of your execution, I shall be near you with this token 
of your attachment, (holding in her hand a rich 
wrought sash which had previously been the gift of 
Man-tin-o-ah^ to inspire you with fortitude, that you 
may meet your end as becomes a worthy descendant 
of the Great Ka-ha-a-ycnt It is true, the time of 
your probation will pass heavily away," said she, as 
Man-tin-o-ah pressed her trembling hand in his. 
" But I shall live happy in the knowledge that you 
will act the part of a true brave of our nation. You 
cannot dishonor the name of a Cayuga ; our destinies 
are firmly knit ; while you live, life to me will bea 
pleasure. When the soul of Man-tin-o-aJi quits its 
earthly home, the spirit of Kah-yan-sa must soon 
follow. Lingering here, her joys would be few, and 
the memory of Man-tin-o-ah dead, could not be borne. 
At the time of your sacrifice I will, from some large 
tree not far distant, display this white belt in token 
of peace and recognition. Let it nerve you to acquit 
yourself in that trying hour, with the courage of a 
tried warrior of the Cayugas. Till then, farewell. 
Keep this blue belt I have wrought for you, and du- 
ring your retirement let it be a talisman to trutli, 



THE SACKIFICE. 89 

fidelity and virtue. Till then, sustain yourself in me- 
ditating on the noble deeds you have achieved, and 
in the prospect of eternally enjoying the favor of the 
Great Spirit, who freely dispenses his favors to the 
brave and true : farewell. The maids of the five 
nations must not openly hold converse with the 
doomed." 

The heart of the cliief was full. His broad chest 
heaved with emotion. He gently pressed the loved 
one to his bosom. He would have told her much, but 
the tongue of the brave denied him utterance. His 
calm demeanor and expressive looks told more than 
could a multitude of words. He sighed and beck- 
oned a silent farewell. Slowly and reluctantly, with 
a heavy heart, the warrior departed. The eye of the 
trembling girl followed his retiring steps, till the dim 
shade of night shut his tall form from her view, and 
she listened till the last footfall died in the distance. 
The rising sun found Man-tin-o-ah in a lone wilder- 
ness, far from his home. During the time set for the 
banishment of the chief, Kah-yan-sa continued mostly 
at her home. The dance of the maidens, or the song . 
of the warriors, had few charms for her. She busied 
herself almost miceasingly in the domestic concerns 
of her parental fireside. Often when alone would she 
recount the noble deeds of him who was the center 
and circumference of her afiections, and break out in 
a few wild notes expressive of her gloomy feelings. 
She sought not nor yet shunned the society of her* 
former friends, but chose rather to seek consolation 



90 THE SACEIilCE. 

in listening to the rushing wind as it swept over the 
leafy forest, or the rippling brook as it murmured 
sweetly along its pebbly channel. Oft would she 
wander alone at evening to the shore of the glassy 
lake, place her ear near its grassy margin, and catch 
the trembling sounds as they came across its smooth 
surface. Midnight might find her gazing upon the 
face of the well filled moon. Often and again would 
she number the changes it would perform ere he would 
return. Her night dreams were of him, and her daily 
thoughts forgat him not. 

Early one morning, as several chiefs of the Onon- 
dagas, with Mr. Webster, (whose Indian name was 
Sa-goos-ha-noo'ks^ were sitting around the door of the 
council-house, a young man, a stranger, presented 
himself before them. After the customary saluta- 
tions, the young man proceeded. " Fathers, I have 
come to dwell among you and your people, if you 
will permit. I have left forever the home of my 
fathers and the hearth of my mother. I come to 
seek a home with you. My name is Man-tin-o-ah. 
Deny me not." The most aged chief, Kah-wicJc-do- 
ta^ answered him — '' Man-tin-o-ah, you are welcome 
here ; sit you down with us. Be our son — we will 
be to you a father. You can hunt and fish with our 
young men, and tread the war-path with the braves 
of our nation. You shall be honored as you deserve." 
Near two years passed around and Man-tin-o-ah was 
apparently contented and happy — always foremost 
in the chase, most active in the dance, and loudest in 



THE SACRIFICE. 91 

the song. Between Man-tin-o-ah and "Webster a bond 
of firmest friendship was formed. When Webster 
climbed the hill, Man-tin-o-ah was his companion. 
When Man-tin-o-ah watched the midnight moon, 
Webster whispered friendship in his ear. Their 
wakeful eyes caught the first glimmering of the rising 
sun together, and its last parting gleam, as it sank 
below the western horizon, departed from both their 
visions at the same time. 

Said Man-tin-o-ah to his friend one morning, while 
sitting in a more contemplative mood than usual, " I 
must soon leave your beautiful valley forever ; I must 
go toward the setting sun. Four and twenty moons 
have filled their horns and waned, since I came to 
this place between the hills. I have a vow to per- 
form — my nation and my friends know Man-tin-o-ah 
will be true. My friend, will you go with me ? " 
Webster assented. 

A hasty preparation was made for the journey. 
They left the Onondaga valley together. Man-tin- 
o-ah looked upon it for the last time. After a walk of 
three or four days, taking it leisurely along, hunting 
and fishing by the way, they arrived at an eminence 
near Man-tin-o-ah'' s village. Here, said he, let us 
rest. Let us here invoke the Great Spirit to grant 
us strength to pass triumphantly through the scenes 
and trials of this day. Here, said he, we will eat, 
and here, for the last time, we shall smoke the pipe 
of friendship together. After a hasty repast of broiled 
venison and bread, the pipe was passed from one 



92 THE SACRIFICE. 

to the other m regular succession. "Now," said 
Marirtin-o-ah to his friend, " a little more than two 
years have elapsed since, at my native village near to 
us, partly in self-defense and partly in a burst of 
passion, I slew one who had been my chosen friend — ■ 
my bosom companion. I was condemned as guilty 
of my friend's blood. It was decreed I should suffer 
death. I sought the gloomy recesses of the forest — 
it was then I presented myself before the chiefs of 
the Onondagas, and sought admittance into that na- 
tion ; it was then I won your friendship. The near- 
est of kin to him I slew, according to our customs, 
was to be my executioner. My execution was de- 
ferred for two full years, during which time I was to 
retire as a banished man from my nation. The time 
of two full years expires this day, when the setting 
sun sinks behind the topmost branch of yonder tree. 
Beneath the broad branches of this venerable oak, at 
the foot of this ancient rock against which I now lean, 
I stand prepared to receive my doom. My friend, 
we have had many a cheerful sport together. Our 
joys have not been circumscribed — our griefs have 
been few. Look not so sad now, but let new joys 
arouse you to happiness. When you return to the 
Onondagas, bear testimony tliat Man-tin-o-ali died 
like a brave man ; that he shivered not at the ap- 
proach of death, like tlie coward pale face, nor shed 
tears as a woman. Man-tin-o-ah fears not to die. 
Take my knife, my hunting pouch, my belt, my horn, 
and rifle ; accept them as mementos of our former 



THE SACRIFICE. 93 

friendship ; I need them no longer. A few moments 
and the avenger will be here. I am ready ; the Great 
Spirit calls — farewell." 

Webster firmly remonstrates against his determi- 
nation. In vain he urges him to escape the conse- 
quences. A short silence ensues — a yell is heard in 
the distance. Man-tin-o-ah responds, and suddenly 
a single Indian approaches, and takes Man-tin-o-ah 
by the hand. He, too, had been his early friend. 
But the laws of the savage cannot be broken. After 
mutual salutations and expressions of friendship, the 
avenger thus addressed him : " Man-tin-o-ah^ you 
have slain my brother ; our laws declare me his aven- 
ger and your executioner ; your time has come ; death 
is at hand ; prepare to meet him ; be steadfast, be firm, 
and may the Great Spirit sustain you." At this mo- 
ment the quick eye of Man-tin-o-ah perceived the 
promised signal. The white belt opened its folds in 
the deep shade of the forest, as the soft light of the 
sun's last lingering rays fell upon it. It waved from 
the hand of the fair Kah-yan-sa. It was enough. 
His full, dark eye met triumphantly that of his de- 
stroyer. He gracefully elevated his manly form, and 
carefully bared his broad bosom. His majestic head 
was already uncovered. He laid his arms across his 
manly breast — not a muscle moved — not a breath was 
heard ; there he stood ready for the voluntary sacri- 
fice, immovable as adamant. Accompanied by a 
deafening yell, the deadly tomahawk of the avenger 
glittered in the fading light. Its keen edge sank 



94 THE SACEIFICE. 

deep into the brain of the victim. Tlie thirsty earth 
drank the life blood of Ifan-tin-o-ah^ and he sank a 
lifeless corpse before his friend. 

Instantly, as if by magic, a host of savages ap- 
peared. The mournful song of death reechoed through 
the forest. The gloomy dance for the dead moved in 
melancholy solemnity around the corpse of the de- 
parted. The low, guttural moan peculiar to the savage, 
murmured through the trees, and all was still. They 
silently surveyed the scene, when slowly, in groups, in 
pairs and singly, the spectators of this thrilling scene 
retired. The gloomy tempest of this fatal tragedy 
was followed by a quiet calm ; every sound was lulled, 
save the waving of the green leaves of the thick trees, 
and the soft-toned chorus of the chirping insect-song. 
All was hushed in the peculiar stillness of evening. 
The star of night had set her vigil in the east ; twi- 
light had cast her dim mantle over all things ; na- 
ture's self seemed profoundly wrapt in the solemnity 
of the melancholy catastrophe. Still as the scene 
around her, the gentle Kah-yan-sa moved from her 
covert. Silently and devoutly the Indian girl wended 
her way to the corpse of her lover. The dim light of 
the stars exposed the ruined form of the fallen one. 
His stern features had not relaxed ; the unflinching 
look of fortitude was indelibly stamped on his brow. 
The mantle of dignity still shrouded his noble form. 
He yet seemed as if the same inflexible, indomitable 
spirit possessed him. 

Kah-yan-sa drew near, and on her bended knees, 



THE SACRIFICE. 95 

"with uplifted hands, in the perfect spirit of devotion, 
breathed forth a prayer to the Great Spirit. Her up- 
turned eye moved not, a placid smile played over her 
countenance, as if conscious lier prayer was answered. 
Her features denoted a mind wrought up to some 
eventful purpose, as if its last energies were concen- 
trated to a single deed ready for consummation. A 
flush of satisfaction glowed over her cheeks, and mild 
resignation sat triumphant on her brow. Her hands 
dropped suddenly motionless at her side, her muscles 
slowly relaxed, a poisonous vegetable had left a pur- 
ple stain upon her lips, and she fell extended across 
the breast of her lover. Her sweet spirit quietly left 
its earthly tenement, to dwell with his beyond the 
troubled cares of time. 

As shuts the tender blossom at evening, so closed 
the eyes of the Cayuga maid. As the trembling and 
unstained petal of the rose seeks its rest on the bosom 
of the earth departing from its stay, so sank the be- 
loved Kah-yan-sa^ and she calmly yielded np her 
spirit at the shrine of her adoration. The lovers were 
buried sitting side by side in the same grave, with 
their faces towards the rising sun, near the spot where 
their lives so tragically terminated. Sixty years ago, 
as the Cayuga hunter roamed in perfect freedom over 
the then unbroken forests of Western ]N"ew York, as 
he approached the high ground between the Cayuga 
and Seneca lakes, he would point with a sigh to the 
grave of Man-tm-o-ah and Kali-yan-sa^ and say — 
" There was the Sacrifice." 



THE BROKEN HEART, 

OS 

THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 

" Thereis a kind of pride, a decent dignity, 
Due to ourselves ; which, spite of our misfortunes, 
May be maintained and cherished to the last. 
To live without reproach, and without leave 
To qwit the world, shows sovereign contempt 
And noble scorn of its relentless malice." 

LiLLio's Fatal Curiosity. 

On lot number forty of the military townsliip of 
Pompey, county of Onondaga, on the west branch of 
the Limestone Creek, is a noted waterfall of about one 
hundred and seventy feet, known as Pratt's Falls. At 
first, the stream falls perpendicularly about sixty feet, 
and then rushes over an abrupt and shelving ledge 
of shale rock, breaking and foaming in all the fury 
of a mighty cataract, over one hundred feet more. 
Tlie chasm is narrow, deep and gloomy, and every- 
where along its high-walled sides, may be seen stand- 
ing out in bold relief, dark evergreen shrubs in per- 
rennial beauty, variegating the waste of rock, shading 
and beautifying its native grandeur. Here are no 
artificial embellishments. The surrounding scenery 



THE MAHTYK MISSIONARY. 97 

still wears the artless robe of nature in all its mag- 
nificence and sublimity. Picturesque, romantic and 
sublime, are the objects comprising the gorgeous scene- 
ry here concentrated. Events have transpired, which 
make these transcendent works of nature still more 
interesting and attractive, and add much to their ce- 
lebrity. In modern times, more than one individual 
has by accident been precipitated from the giddy 
height to the wild abyss below, the story of which is 
still fresh in the recollection of the living. 

" There is a tale about these gray old rocks, 
A sad tradition of unhappy love, 
And sorrows borne and ended, long ago, 
When over these fair vales the savage souglit 
His game in the thick woods." 

Two hundred years ago, when the red race flourished 
here, this spot was the scene of a fatal tragedy, the 
tradition of which is preserved, and repeated with 
solemnity and earnestness by the gray and wrinkled 
seers of a former generation — the red patriarchs of 
the forest, as they gather in stately conclave around 
their symbolic council-fire. 

The colonization of E'ew France (Canada) forms a 
grand and prominent feature in the history of North 
America. In 1G03 the flag of the " Grand Monarquo " 
was unfurled on the island of Montreal. In 1609, 
Mons. Samuel Champlain planted a colony there, 
which subsequently prospered. It was one of the first 
objects of the French, in their attempts at colonization, 
at the same time that jurisdiction was acquired over 
E 7 



98 THE MARTYR MISSI0:N^ARY. 

a territory, and the regal scepter swayed over a peo- 
ple, simultaneously to introduce the banner of the 
cross, and the crosier, symbols of pastoral authority 
and care, signifying that with things temporal should 
be blended things spiritual, and that if civilization 
increased the happiness and consequence of a savage 
people, Christianity elevated them to still a higher 
point. 

Fired with the grand project of christianizing the 
world, the head of the Roman Catholic church found 
no difficulty in securing the services of devoted young 
men, animated by the spirit and novelty of adven- 
ture, filled with entliusiasm and zeal for the advance- 
ment and prosperity of the church, who were willing 
to exchange the comforts of civilization, the luxuries 
of wealth and refinement, and the green fields of sunny 
France, for the wilds of America, the gloom of the 
forest, and the poverty, destitution and rude society 
of ignorant and barbarous savages. 

Mons. Joseph Le Caron, of the order of Recollets, 
the celebrated Franciscan Father, was the first to pro- 
claim to the wondering natives of the north the glad 
tidings of salvation, and to unfold to them the grand 
scheme of redemption, wrought to save a lost and ru- 
ined world. This bold adventurer reared the stand- 
ard of the cross among the Hurons, the Algonquins 
and Ottawas. The fascinating tones of the gospel 
were heard among the Iroquois, along the great lake 
of the ^'-Eiitouhonorons^'^ (Ontario,) and new as were 
the doctrines proclaimed by the Father, and strange 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 99 

as was his manner of convoying them, still, disciples 
and proselytes thronged his pathway, and multitudes, 
with the most rapturous ecstacy, chanted the glories 
of the Redeemer. 

By some unexplainable arrangement, the order of 
Recollets, who had always been the pioneers of new 
missions, were recalled from New France, and the 
order of Jesuits, under the direction of Henry de 
Levi, Due de Yentadour, Viceroy of New France, 
were appointed to take charge of the missions in that 
country, and extend themselves far and wide among 
all the Indian nations. 

In 1625, Mons. Saussaye, with Fathers Masse and 
Brebeuf, was selected to prosecute with vigor the mis- 
sions in New France. The three entered with a well 
tempered zeal upon this great work. The rude sons 
of the forest hailed with gladness these heralds of the 
cross as they approached their villages. The words 
of the Fathers breathed love, joy, peace and good 
will. Their glory was to suffer, and their business, 
to teach humility, righteousness, temperance, faith, 
hope, charity, and a judgment to come. They visited 
a people who had always believed the sweeping fire, 
the roaring tempest, the rushing cataract ; the sun, 
the moon, the stars ; the winds, the woods, the wa- 
ters, fit objects of deification — appliances and lights 
of the Great Spirit to control the world. A people 
who had ever embraced the superstitions, the idola- 
tries and degrading rites of the heathen, following 
gross practices of delusion, and influenced by a sys- 



100 THE MAETTB MISSIONARY. 

tern of myths and fables — still profoundly ignorant 
of everything agitating the world beyond their own 
territorial circle. 

From 1643 to 1650, Onondaga was visited by the 
Fathers Le Mercier, Claude Dablon, Rene Mesnard, 
Jaques Fremin, Paul Eagueneau, Pierre Millett, Je- 
rome Lalemant, Simon Le Moyne, Joseph Chanmo- 
not and others, as missionaries, having their head- 
quarters at Quebec, Onondaga being the principal 
point of operation among the Iroquois. Simultane- 
ously with the selection of missionary stations, and 
their occupancy by the Fathers, colonies were pro- 
jected and established, and as early as 1665, a con- 
siderable colony was planted on the Butternut Creek, 
about a mile south of the present village of James- 
ville, at which place a chapel of respectable dimen- 
sions was erected and consecrated to the worship of 
the Most High. Small parties of the colonists were 
scattered abroad over the country south and south- 
east, from the principal location, through what has 
since been called Pompey, La Fayette and Fabius. 
Then it was known as '•'Te-Tcanea-to-heung-ne-ugh^^'' or 
the Highland hunting ground, interspersed with small 
lakes, the outlets of which flow in contrary directions. 
The scattered colonists occupied the little prairies, or 
openings so frequent in that region, when first visited 
by the whites. In many of these little settlements, 
chapels were erected, and missionaries stationed, so 
that the whole aboriginal population, as well as the 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 101 

French, could easily avail themselves of the services 
of the Roman Catholic Church. 

It is true that both colonists and missionaries were 
preceded by trappers and traders, who practiced their 
arts and displayed their trinkets, long before system- 
atic plans were adopted for the civilization and con- 
version of these benighted people, so that the natives 
had timely knowledge of the French, a foretaste of 
the craft and of the cupidity of thesQ designing men. 

Among those who were companions of the celebra- 
ted Fathers, was one whose name was not as conspic- 
uous as those before mentioned, but who was zealous, 
active, and most piously devoted to the holy cause in 
which the Society of Jesus had embarked. The Rev. 
Mon. de Trouve came to Canada in 1665, and was 
soon after assigned, by the bishop of Quebec, to the 
charge of the Iroquois converts in the villages along 
the shores of Lake Ontario. For more than two 
years, his time and talents were directed to the con- 
version of these uncultivated souls, with such a meas- 
ure of success as usually attends true piety, a well 
directed zeal, unwavering perseverance, and a just 
regard for all the sacred duties of his profession. He 
went forth, amidst the countless mutations and streams 
of time, strong in faith, to soften and mould the minds 
of savage men ; to form in them new characteristics, 
new hopes, new desires, and new aspirations, till the 
simple accidents and circumstances of his mortal pil- 
grimage should effect, through Jesus, a revolution in 
their habits, a renewal of their lives, and their souls 



102 THE MARTYIi MISSIONARY. 

be retrieved from impending ruin. He was after- 
wards transferred to the colony above named, and 
during his ministrations, a church, named ''St. Jean 
Baptiste " of Onondaga, rose, as if by magic, in the 
wilderness, in all the simplicity of rural beauty. The 
missionary was soon able to make a full and favora- 
ble report of his labors to the Grand Superior Gene- 
ral of Missions at Quebec. In his new field of use- 
fulness, his energies were applied with renewed vigor 
— proselytes were multiplied under his teachings, 
and the wilderness was made glad, and the desert 
rejoiced in the fervor and success of the far-famed 
Mons. De Trouvc. 

nad it not been for another circumstance, or rather 
a train of circumstances, this might have been the 
last we should have heard of our estimable mission- 
ary. But unfortunately he was sorely tried, he be- 
came a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and 
his eventful career terminated in sadness and woe. 

As opportunity offered, he visited the sick, was 
extremely attentive to their wants, and by his kind- 
ness and sympathy softened the couch of the dying, 
cheered them by his prayers, and soothed them by 
his earnest intercessions in their behalf. He absolved 
those who had been received into the bosom of his 
church. He baptized the smiling infant and the inno- 
cent child ; and gentle youth and faithful adults were 
encouraged in their pious course. Besides, he had 
formed a class of juvenile catechumens, and the little 
bright-eyed eleves gathered around their spiritual 



THE MAKTTR MISSIONARY. 103 

teacher, drinking in the sweet words of instruction, 
with all the eagerness and satisfaction so character- 
istic of the touching and earnest simplicity of pious 
childhood. 

All, everywhere rejoiced in the kindness and pious 
example of the young missionary, and every tongue 
was active in his praise. Among the native proselytes 
was a family well beloved and of influence in the 
nation, who were among the first to repudiate Pagan- 
ism, and embrace Christianity. They were, in truth, 
what they professed to be, generous in spirit, lost to 
the things of this world, zealous advocates for the faith, 
and were unremittingly exact in the observance of 
all the requirements, duties, rites and ceremonies of 
the Koman Catholic Church, The parents of the 
family were remarkably devotional and exemplary, 
and by all, were considered as patterns of excellence 
and virtue. They trained their offspring in all the 
ways of religious obligation, and these grew up like 
olive plants adorning the cabin of the seer, and were 
the admiration of the devoted missionaries, who 
evinced sincere satisfaction at the prosperity of the 
newly established church at Onondaga. The reve- 
rend Fathers were lavish in their caresses upon the 
youthful proselytes, and bountifully showered bless- 
ings upon their heads. 

Owing to the unhealthfulness of the climate to 
which M. de Trouve had been but little accustomed, 
the frequent exposure to the inclemency of the weather 
and the noxious miasma of the wilderness, combined 



104r THE MAETTR MISSIONAET. 

with his arduous duties and a naturally tender frame, 
he became a victim to a raging fever, and for manj 
tedious weeks was a prey to wasting disease. In his 
troubles, he sought refuge and shelter in the rude 
tenement of his very Christian friends, who had, on 
many occasions, shown substantial examples of charity 
and benevolence towards their suffering brethren, and 
he calmly yielded himself to the scathings of sickness 
and distress. Housed in a simple cabin formed of poles 
and barks, stretched upon a couch made of leaves 
and skins spread upon the ground, without a single 
object of interest to vary or enliven the scene, he be- 
came dejected, melancholy, and entirely broken in 
spirit. 'No ready hand was extended to administer 
the simple remedies of the savage. No tender heart, 
warm with affection, sympathized with his, to allay 
the feverish flame. No kind mother, with appropri- 
ate dainties, was near to nurse his sinking frame ; nor 
dear friend, with cheering voice, came to soothe his 
sorrowing heart. 

" stretched on his weary couch, pale and dying, 

The missionary lay. Dusky faces 

O'er him bent : stranger voices on his ear 

Fell sad, and stranger hands his pillow smoothed." 

There he lay, a prey to torturing disease, impatient 
with confinement, and gnawed to the very soul by 
lassitude and eiinui, ISTo ray of hope shot across his 
comfortless mind, no expectation of release but in 
death, relieved the gloomy prospect before him. He 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 105 

looked upon his course as already run, and mourned 
in agony for tlio little good lie had accomplished, and 
the short space allotted for the perfection of his la- 
bors. He sighed that the righteous cause he had 
espoused should lose one who had solemnly vowed to 
exhaust his energies for the renovation of a benighted 
race, and that the church should suffer loss for want 
of laborers in her vineyard. 

Revolving these subjects in his mind, he fervently 
prayed his heavenly Father to send him comfort in 
his distress, and grace to bow with becoming humility, 
resignation and submission to his sacred will. A 
bright and steady calm came over the mind of the 
feeble man, his resolution was summoned for the 
dread pangs of the last sad event, and without regret, 
he prepared to bid adieu to every sublunary object. 
While tortured with disease, despairing of recovery 
and almost lost to sense, there was unperceived and 
unnoticed among the dusky group of anxious obser- 
vers, one who, more than the rest, bent with earnest 
solicitude over the couch of the sick and apparently 
perishing stranger. It was a daughter of the woman 
in whose cabin he lay helpless and depressed. She 
had been a devoted disciple, and an attentive listener 
to the teachings of the pious missionary. She had 
drank deep at the Christian fountain, was an humble 
and constant devotee at mass ; she had been baptized 
in the faith, and had solemnly dedicated herself to 
the service of the Most High, in the reception of the 
holy Eucharist. Day by day she had watched the 



106 THE MAKTYK :\nSSIONART. 

sallow and sad countenance, and the emaciated form 
of the man of God, praying that he might be restored 
to his friends, to his sphere of usefulness — a shining 
light to the church, and spend a happy and long life- 
time of religious activity among her people, and 
finally, through the merits of a crucified Kedeemer, 
receive an imperishable crown of glory. 

A crisis in the good man's case had arrived and 
favorably passed, his suff*erings gradually abated, and 
he was finally restored to a comfortable measure of 
health and strength. He was soon enabled to renew 
his labors, and he did so with vigor and zeal, and 
abundant blessings seemed to crown his efforts with 
success. 

The Indian girl was one whose devotion was su- 
preme, whose zeal and philanthropy were prominent, 
whose self-denial and exemplary propriety were pro- 
verbial among her people. The simplicity of her 
nature and the delicacy of her spirit, rendered her 
keenly sensible to pleasure or pain. With a heart 
full of affection, overflowing with confidence, her soul 
was all sunshine within, rendering everything bright 
and joyous around her. By degrees, she insensibly 
won the esteem and admiration of the missionary of 
the wilderness. Far above her countrywomen in 
every virtue and grace which adorns the christian 
heart, so in form and features she far sui-passed all 
others of her nation in beauty and just proportions. 
She was teachable, and possessed, in a remarkable 
degree, the faculty of communicating to others the 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. lOt 

knowledge she had herself attained, and was thus a 
continual help in the conveyance of instruction to the 
inquiring neophytes, as they circled round their spir- 
itual teacher. Simplicity, gentleness and timidity 
were her prominent characteristics, yet, when aroused 
in her native pride, dignity and power, she was su- 
premely grand and lofty in her bearing, exhibiting a 
haughtiness and reserve which none could fathom. 

As the mfeek and holy man left the rude cabin of 
his hostess, on his errands of mercy, visiting the sick 
and suffering proselytes, administering comfort to 
their necessities and distress, and relief to their troub- 
led spirits, the eye of the Indian girl followed his re- 
ceding footsteps till his tall form was shut from view, 
and she sighed in retirement, in silence and in won- 
der, that his absence should produce so singular a 
sensation, while his returning voice filled her soul 
with pleasure and delight. In his presence, joy 
lighted her dusky countenance, a soft, bewitching 
smile played over her sweet features, and only cheer- 
fulness and peace pervaded her bosom. Her dark 
eyes and ebon hair rippled like the sunlight upon 
water, kindly stirred by the evening breeze. Her 
dimpled smile heightened the beauty of her cheek, 
and with her merry, melodious voice, told the sweet 
harmony of mind within. From her unwearied at- 
tention to his wants, and a willingness to render in 
all respects his situation agreeable and happy, and 
above all, from her steady, unwavering devotion to 
the cause of instruction in which she had zealously 



108 THE MAKTYK MISSIONARY. 

embarked, and lier strict observance of the duties of 
a Christian disciple, it was not wonderful that with 
all her high qualities, her beauty and her grace, she 
should awaken in his bosom a feeling more intense 
than admiration, a sensation more enlivening than 
esteem, and a passion more enduring than affection. 
Longer than with others of his faithful disciples he 
spent with her his leisure moments, and with a far 
different feeling did he impart to her instruction from 
the ''' Breviaire^^^ and hear her repeat her ^^ Pater 
Nosters^'' and tell her " Am Marias^'' till her rosaries 
were completed. So far removed was he from his 
former youthful c'ompanions,' so isolated from every 
being worthy of intimate and social intercourse, so 
remote from the haunts of courtly splendor to which 
he had been accustomed, so distant from the glittering 
circle of high life in which he had once moved with 
pleasure and delight ; it is no wonder, that in the 
vicinity, and often in the society of one so worthy and 
so good, he felt an indelible impression of that tender 
passion beneath whose controlling power, mortals of 
all stations and degrees are indiscriminately and irre- 
sistibly doomed to bow. In truth, he was in love, 
and in love, too, with one of another race. He 
weighed well the mental graces of the Indian maid, 
and compared them with those of many of his coun- 
trywomen, and with pleasure saw the comparison 
preponderate in her fiivor. She seemed to him fresh 
from the hand of nature, cast in a mould of heaven. 
Free from every taint of evil, she stood forth in all the 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 109 

innocence and bloom of unsullied youth and beauty, 
like the mother of the world in primeval simplicity 
and heavenly purity. In the honesty of her heart, 
she felt and reciprocated the tender passion, but from 
disparity of circumstances, she strove to suppress the 
kindling hope, and in pensive melancholy whiled her 
anxious cares away. She struggled hard and long 
against her love, and reasoned with her heart, to still 
the rising tumult there ; but from her tender bosom 
she could not uproot the pang that wrung it. 

The barbed shaft had penetrated too deeply the 
tender heart of Mons. de Trouve to be eradicated 
without rending and lacerating his vitals. There ^it 
was doomed to remain, to rankle and to rot, unless 
the wound was soothed and healed by the sweet and 
sovereign balm of conjugal affinity. But to the con- 
summation of their earthly happiness, there was an 
absolute hindrance — • an impassable barrier — a posi- 
tive interdiction. The vows which the youthful j^riest 
had taken, upon assuming the responsibilities and 
credentials of his order, forever forbade the faithful 
recipient from entering the blessed estate of matri- 
mony. There was no honorable mode of accomplish- 
ing a happy union of heart and hand with her he 
loved, but for Mons. de Trouve to resign his station in 
the cliurch, and return to some of the professions or 
employments pursued by men of the world. With 
this view, he solicited the superintendent of missions, 
the Bishop of Quebec, for a release from his vows, 
that he miccht once more return to his beloved liome 



110 THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 

in France, and that he might spend the remainder of 
his days in retirement, and devote his undivided at- 
tentions to one he loved to adoration, and without 
whom the world was but a blank. His petition was 
denied, his prayer was rejected. In vain he asked a 
dismissal from the services of the church. The bishop 
was deaf to his entreaties, and in the sternest man- 
ner rebuked the trembling supplicant, bade him re- 
member his solemn vows to his church and to his 
God, which were unchanging and unchangeable — fast 
and irrevocable. He bade him return with contri- 
tion of heart and sorrow of soul, with penitence and 
faith to his field of duty, and perform faithfully his 
missionary work. He even threatened him with instant 
excommunication, degradation and anathema, unless 
he forthwith abjured his present purpose, promised 
faithful and implicit obedience to the commands of 
the Spiritual Fathers, and banished at once and for- 
ever from his heart all thoughts of conjugal alliance. 
Mons. de Trouve had been too thoroughly disciplined 
in the rubrics and canons of his church, and too 
long schooled in her mandates and dogmas, to depart 
from the injunctions and commands of those whom 
he was bound to consider in a degree the keepers of 
his conscience, although obedience might forever de- 
prive himself of happiness, and render another most 
miserable. 

Awed by the severe and imperative decree of the 
Bishop Superior, faithful to the requirements of liis 
church, and obedient to her established rules, he re- 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. Ill 

solved, at whatever cost, to submit to all her demands, 
although in an unguarded moment he had been recre- 
ant to his trust, false to his profession, and had pledged 
his whole heart and soul to her, a mortal, who had 
supreme possession of his affections. He now, as a 
matter of duty and obedience to his spiritual direct- 
ors, resolved to tear away from her who had fast and 
abiding influence over his destiny, and in oblivion 
bury every sentiment of hope and love. With a mel- 
ancholy heart, the agitated and afflicted missionary- 
departed, to convey to the dark-haired maid the 
heart-rending intelligence. The dread thought cost 
him many a bitter pang. He resolutely, though with 
trembling diffidence, imparted the fatal secret to the 
confiding girl. A gloomy spell passed over her 
clouded vision. The words of the man of God fell 
not upon her ears as in former times. 

Had the yawning earth in sulphurous tumult, 
threatening instant destruction, opened before them, 
a greater degree of astonishment could not have been 
depicted on mortal face, than was upon hers at this 
unexpected revelation. Had the heavens opened 
their sacred portals and involved the world in imme- 
diate, inevitable ruin, the shock could not have been 
more complete. The blackened storm which had 
been long impending, had gathered in lurid silence, 
and now burst with portentous fury upon her fragile 
frame, and in its desolating rage annihilated her 
hopes and liappiness forever. The deep avenues of 
grief opened to her breast, and its dark waters riislied in 



112 TSE MAKTYR MISSIONARY. 

like a flood, spreading ruin and desolation in its course. 
The gloom of woe sat brooding over her, like the 
shadow of silent, desolating misery. Intense internal 
anguish blanched her cheek, and carved upon her 
youthful brow wrinkles like those of age. The clouds 
of death encompassed her like a ghastly shadow — 
terrible, but welcome. She resigned herself at last 
to that sweet peace known only to the aching heart 
in the hour of deepest affliction, while steeped in the 
bitterest sorrow. The rosy atmosphere of hope was 
stagnant. Every pulse throbbed languid, cold and 
cheerless. The blood rushed to her heart like an icy 
flood, and the dark winter of her earthly sorrow ob- 
literated every outward appearance of suffering and 
woe. A wild, idiotic stare was fixed upon the amazed 
missionary. She gazed in the blankness of despair 
for a moment upon her bewildered lover. She sighed 
not. No murmur of reproach escaped her lips. 'No 
tear of sorrow came to her relief. No mourning drop 
bedewed her beauteous cheek ; silent, fixed, immova- 
ble as a statue, she stood with intensest gaze, as if 
penetrating the inmost recesses of the heart of the 
suffering man, to search his withering soul. 

She, at length, slowly turned her back upon her dis- 
consolate lover ; she gave no parting glance, nor cast 
one lingering look beliind, but with an air of proud 
disdain, fleet as a wild roe of the mountain, she fled 
from his presence. The half-distracted maiden rushed 
on with all the speed which delirium and high re- 
solve could lend, and ere long was seated on a huge 



THE I^IARTYR MISSIONARY. 113 

rock on tlie brink of the lofty precipice above the 
high falls of the west branch of the " Te-a-ime-nogh- 
JieP Stung to the very soul by disappointment, dis- 
tracted by delirium and frantic with desperation, she 
bent her tall, womanly form over the deep, dark gulf, 
and her eyes rested with delight upon the rushing 
waters, as they whirled and foamed in madness over 
the rugged rocks in the dreary abyss below. In all 
the storm of grief, yet beautiful as the morning, she 
stood aghast upon the rude rock, like a lone flower 
adorning the world's wide waste. No voice of wail 
escaped her quivering lips. She carelessly loosened 
her flowing robe and wavy hair to the breeze, a set- 
tled calm came over her troubled spirit, till feebler 
and more feeble fled the stream of thought, and she 
unconsciously resigned herself to the unalterable de- 
cree of destiny. In an attitude of devotion, she raised 
her hands towards the Great Spirit's home, 

" And prayed that safe and swift might be her way 
To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief 
Makes the heart heavy : — " 

She sighed — " The Broken Heart^'' and with a single 
bound leaped into the awful chasm. For an instant 
she was suspended in the realms of space, and then 
the overwhelming flood closed over the shattered re- 
mains of the heart-broken girl forever. 

She was sought by her friends, and traced to the 
rock, where a portion of her dress was found so dis- 
posed as certainly to indicate her unhappy fate. 

The history of the tragic event so far as known, was 

8 



114 THE MARTYK MISSIO^TIEY. 

speedily conveyed to the mission station. The nation 
mourned with bitter grief the sorrowful bereavement, 
and the stricken Jesuit received the dreadful tidings 
with amazement and mournful dejection. Eemorse 
seized his soul ; he wandered about, the very picture of 
despair, completely unfitted for the duties of his station, 
and finally settled down into despondency, a prey to 
the most poignant anguish. Time rolled on, and the 
proselytes and neophytes of his charge were neglected. 
The sound of the chapel bell failed to summon the 
leader of devotions to his post. The warning chant of 
matins was not heard as usual on the morning's break- 
ing light ; mass was neglected and unsaid, and ves- 
pers died away in the calm hush of the evening twi- 
light, unsung by the holy man and his disciples. His 
altar was made more than desolate. It was prostrate, 
broken down, defaced. The last and most precious 
of his household deities had been shivered, and the 
dark stream of oblivion flowed over the shattered and 
precious relic. The idol of his heart had perished in 
her beauty and her love. She had withered before 
his eyes, a victim to the holy passion which had 
bound them together. The melancholy catastrophe 
was accomplished without remedy, and there was 
nothing further for him to fulfill but death. 

The weary sentinel on the battlements of the cita- 
del of the wilderness Zion, failed to give his accus- 
tomed warnings ; the enemy crept in without alarm, 
and nought but confusion reigned throughout the 
station. The Holy Fathers chid their unfortunate 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 115 

son, and in vain bent tlicir efforts to aronsc him from 
his reverie, to reinstate him in health, and vigor of 
mind and body. The wound lie had received was too 
deep to be healed, too fatal for recovery, and he 
pined away in silence, in solitude and sorrow, irreso- 
lute, inconsolable, spirit-broken, self-abased, self-ac- 
cused and self-condemned. 

Like a solitary tree, upon a bleak hill-top, which 
has withstood the storms of ages unharmed, at length 
is singled out by the vivid lightning, and in an instant 
is blasted in every part of its articulation — totally 
bereft of vitality and verdure, so he became dead to 
everything around him. To him the wide firmament 
was hung wdth black, and the bright blue curtain of 
heaven was rolled together as a scroll. He fed only 
upon the past ; he derived no pleasure from the pre- 
sent, and he manifested little concern for what was 4, 
to come. He ceased from his labors ; his place was 
supplied by another ; the days of his usefulness were 
at an end, and like a fallen and withered leaf, rustling 
only in the tempest, still hurrying on to its final rest- 
ing place to perish and decay, so he was tossed to and 
fro by the rude storm of adversity, abiding the time 
when with joy he could depart and be at peace with 
all men, and finally be wafted to the mansions of hea- 
venly bliss. 

He lingered around the cabin which had once been 
the happy home of the fair, but ill-fated maid. Many 
endearing mementoes enchained him to the spot, hal- 
lowed as having been the birth-place of his first love, 



116 THE MARTYIi MISSIONAEW ^ 

the play-place of her childhood, and the spot where 
she, heaven-directed, first listened to his spiritual 
teachings, and where she meekly embraced the faith. 
Although there was nothing left that could afi'ord his 
troubled soul relief, yet he was bound to it as if by 
enchantment. 

He would often wander away to the rough un- 
sightly rock from which the devoted maid had pre- 
cipitated herself. In mournful solemnity would he 
cast his eyes from the giddy height into the fierce and 
foaming current, as if to catch a glimpse of the de- 
parted one. He almost fancied he could see her hal- 
lowed form in the rocks, her dear image in the trees, 
and hear her sweet voice above the roar of waters. 
Upon the ivy clad rock he often reclined his languid 
head ; he rested his limbs, feeble and motionless, on 
the rough brink of the obscure chasm, and thus re- 
signed his thoughts to images of the eventful past, 
and revolved the web of his short history, from his 
birth to his prospective grave, ready to surrender to 
their final impulses the fading powers of life. From 
thence, like a mendicant, he roamed the forest, seek- 
ing consolation in solitude and loneliness. By de- 
grees, his dark hair became prematurely gray ; from 
sufiering, his face became lined with deep and length- 
ened furrows ; on his thin lips a flush of gnawing fire 
had gathered, his sunken eyes had lost their lustre, 
the pulses of his heavy heart throbbed feebly, his 
hollow look, his feverish brow and withered mien, 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 117 

betrayed a vacancy of mind, and the feeble spirit 
seemed ready to leave the world's wide stage. 

About this time the little French colony, thinking 
itself, perhaps, more secure than it really was, had 
assumed an air of superiority and arrogance, which 
greatly provoked a large portion of the Onondagas, 
who in their anger had secretly resolved to massacre 
every Frenchman in the canton, and destroy every 
vestige of the trader, the trapper and the missionary. 
A secret scheme was concocted, so well arranged and 
so effectually carried into execution in the dead of 
night, that not one, except Mons. De Trouve, escaped 
the horrors of the fell catastrophe. It is supposed 
that not less than sixty persons fell victims to savage 
vengeance and cruelty. The missionary was timely 
forewarned, by. his kind hostess, of the devastation 
that was to be made, and the fate which impended 
over his doomed countrymen, but on pain of expo- 
sure, which would involve him in the general wreck, 
he was not permitted to divulge the fatal secret. A 
constant watch was set upon his movements lest he 
should discover the plot, for it was well understood 
that although his situation was made as agreeable as 
circumstances would allow, he yet placed no value 
upon the short time he might be permitted to live. 
While the work of death was proceeding, he was con- 
cealed in the cabin of his hostess, who confidently ex- 
pected to save him from the general overthrow. For 
a time he escaped the surrounding wreck and ruin. 
It was the intention of the family, to whom the mis- 



118 THE MAETYE MISSIONARY. 

sionary was under many obligations, as soon as the 
fury of the storm had subsided, to convey him pri- 
vately to Quebec, beyond the reach of danger. But 
it was soon rumored that he had not been seen du- 
ring the melec^ nor since the night before the fatal 
onslaught. It was believed he had either fled the 
country, or was secreted in the vicinity. Search was 
made and the place of his concealment ascertained. 
A watch was set over his motions so as to prevent all 
possibility of escape, for the warriors had too much 
respect for his guardian, to wantonly violate the sanc- 
tity of her cabin. As the succeeding day advanced, 
the hidden missionary came forth from his covert, and 
with surprise and dismay, with disgust and horror, 
beheld the mangled corpses of his countrymen sod- 
dening in gore, extended over the ground. 

By this treachery and massacre, the labor of more 
than two years was rendered worse than nugatory to 
the French, for they had lost a valuable colony, and 
those whose places it was no easy matter again to fill. 
Besides this, an important missionary station, which 
had long engaged the attention of the Roman Pon- 
tiff, and had been fostered with parental care by the 
good Fathers of the Romish Church, and which, un- 
der the highest protection and patronage, had prom- 
ised abundant success, was now, for the time being, 
by ruthless hands completely broken up. The young 
missionary was now alone, without power or hope of 
mercy, and completely subject to the will of infuria- 
ted savages excited by slaughter, and rejoicing in 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 119 

bloodshed and success, at whose hands he could nei- 
ther claim nor hope for grace or favor. The small 
portion of the nation who had embraced Christianity 
or received it with approval, were too few and irres- 
olute, or too indifferent and undetermined, to effect- 
ually resist any act of violence which might be med- 
itated by men, intoxicated with rage, against a feeble 
and helpless stranger. Extermination had been the 
grand design from the first conception of the plan. 
It was selected as the watch-word and rallying cry at 
the onslauofht. The murderous hatchet had done its 
work ; the burning brand had been applied with glar- 
ing success, and it was now no time to falter when 
the only obstacle was a helpless, defenseless man. 
The unhappy, unresisting missionary was seized and 
arraigned before a council of warriors, and condemned 
to suffer the fate of his slaughtered countrymen. He 
was laden with chains around his neck, to which was 
attached a ponderous plowshare, hanging across his 
back, as an emblem of civilization. A large wooden 
cross was appended to his breast as a token of his 
profession. Thus heavily laden, the suffering martyr 
was led forth to bid a final adieu to all the ties which 
bound him to earth. In this condition, amidst the 
shouts, the jeers and yells of these blood-thirsty, bar- 
barous and merciless men, he was marched to the 
rock from which the self-sacrificed maid had made 
her untimely exit. Upon the craggy cliff which 
overhangs the foaming flood, he was long exposed to 
the taunts and ridicule of the motley multitude, who 



120 THE MAKTTK MISSIONARY. 

had assembled to witness liis execution. Howls and 
groans echoed through the woods ; deafening yells of 
savage delight, rose in dismal peals above the roar 
of the sweeping cataract, and the hideous discord in- 
creased the horrors of the scene. A circle of war- 
riors in the gayest gala surrounded the suffering 
priest, exulting in his tribulation, and they completed 
their hellish orgies with the exciting war-dance, to 
the appalling music of the war-whoop. A circle of 
fagots and brushwood was placed around the victim ; 
the funeral pile was quickly lighted ; the scorching 
flame drove fiercely around his body ; the glowing 
pyre scathed his feeble frame ; he earnestly prayed 
for the forgiveness of his enemies, and the remission 
of his own sins ; he commended his soul to the hand 
of his maker ; he sunk beneath his load, and with his 
expiring groans w^ere mingled sighs for the untimely 
fate of the maid of the broken heart. During the 
whole of his protracted torture, he bore up under his 
sufferings wdth a firm and manly fortitude, and when 
the dread summons came for his soul to leave its clay 
tenement, and take its chamber in the mysterious 
realms of everlasting light, he calmly yielded to the 
stern mandate, 

"Like one who wraps the drapery of liis couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 

"With all the grace and meek submission of a lowly 
Christian, and with the heroic boldness of a true sol- 
dier of the cross, he resolutely perished, a willing 



THE MARTYR MISSIONARY. 121 

sacrifice, with liis armor on. The moans of the dy- 
ing man had ceased ; in the throes of death he em- 
braced the emblem of his faith and fondly hugged it 
to his bosom ; the fierceness of the flame subsided, 
and among the black and smoking brands and scat- 
tering ashes, lay all that remained of the unfortunate 
Martyr Missionary — a shapeless mass of dark, crisped 
and soddened clay. 

After the close of the melancholy tragedy, the 
dusky warriors in masses hovered around the disfig- 
ured corpse, chanting their national death song, and 
with a cry of hideous exultation raised the charred 
body upon sticks and hurled it over the frightful pre- 
cipice, where it was left to waste among the rocks, 
with the roaring cataract to wail a sad requiem to his 
memory forever. 

F 



THE CHIEF'S REVENGE. 

* * * * "Eevenge so truly great, 
Would come too cheap if bought with less than life. 
If cold, white mortals censure this great deed, 
"Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, 
Souls made of fire, and children of the sun. 
With whom Revenge is virtue." 

Young's Revenge. 

It was in the year 1759, while the contest denom- 
inated " The old French War," was raging between 
the French and -English crowns, that the Iroquois na- 
tions were summoned to bear arms against the French. 
The Mohawks and Onondagas took up the hatchet in 
favor of their ancient ally of Britain. The wrongs 
inflicted by the French upon the Indians in former 
times, had not been forgotten. The burning passion, 
revenge, ever sweet to the savage, was not stifled ; 
and as the summons was proclaimed to the Onondagas, 
the shrill and startling war-whoop was echoed and 
reechoed from hill to hill, with intense delight. Many 
a gallant heart beat high with hope — a full council 
unanimously adopted the cause of war — the veteran 
braves girt on their armor — the youthful warriors 
plumed their scalp-lock crowns for battle — the war- 
dance was celebrated with all the ecstasy of valor 



123 

and deliglit — the war-post was set and shivered with 
lialf a thousand hatchets, and as the serried files de- 
ployed upon the war-path, the distant hills resounded 
with the measured tread of valiant men. 

Among the gathered host was Ta-whis-quan-ta^ the 
second on the list of civil chiefs of the Onondagas. 
Long had he been noted for his amiable and quiet 
disposition, and long had he sat lonely in his cabin, 
the willing advocate for peace. But when the grand 
council of the nation raised the war-cry and bright- 
ened the hatchet for murderous strife, he could no 
longer remain a silent spectator of the thrilling scene. 
Although not obliged by the time-honored customs 
of his countrymen to bear arms in an enemy's coun- 
try, yet when the shrill clarion sounded its stirring 
war-note, he felt determined not to lag on the path of 
danger. 

All things being in readiness for the departure, an 
only daughter of the chief desired permission to ac- 
company her father on a visit to some family i^la- 
tives in Canada. This was indeed a breach of deco- 
rum, for a female to be even seen in the camp of a 
body of warriors upon a hostile expedition. But to 
obviate the difficulty, the chief and his daughter pre- 
ceded the war-party, and at the end of their jour- 
ney awaited its approach. In due time the warriors 
advanced, and were joined by the chief. Onward 
they proceeded, and finally joined the English pro- 
vincial standard, in the neighborhood of Montreal. 
When the heroic Wolfe scaled tlie towering precipice 



124 

and deployed liis gallant army in full array upon the 
Plains of Abraham, the brave Onondagas were there 
to greet him. Of the overthrow of the French, and 
the important events connected with this stupendous 
conflict, we do not design to speak ; only, that the 
Onondagas were there, and faithfully and effectually 
did battle for their victorious ally. The victory won, 
and the services of the red men being no longer avail- 
able, they were dismissed with the most flattering 
testimonials of approbation. Exulting in the over- 
throw of the French, and the certain prospect of their 
power in Korth America being forever annihilated, 
the warriors departed for their homes, and in time 
were greeted there with all the accustomed demon- 
strations of joy and festivity on like occasions. 

Ta-ivhis-quan-ta had lingered behind his compan- 
ions, expecting to enjoy a season of relaxation and 
repose among the friends with whom he had left 
his daughter. In the gray of evening, while every- 
thing was hushed in silence, he approached the cabin, 
where long before he had left the darling object 
of his afi'ections. As he neared the humble dwell- 
ing place, no ray of light gleamed cheerily through 
the rude openings, no stir of human being was 
abroad, not even a dog raised his watchful howl, nor 
living thing was there to extend a cheering welcome. 
Silent as the grave was everything around. Solitude 
in its most awful majesty reigned throughout the 
dreary tenement. ' He passed over the threshold of 
the opened door, and the gloom of desolation was 



125 

within. The baffled chief could not comprehend the 
meaning or divine the mystery. He sat himself down 
in almost hopeless despondency, and gravely meditated 
upon the surrounding ruin. " Can it be," thought he, 
*'that an enemy has been here and despoiled the 
cabin of my friends, and murdered or led away cap- 
tive its inmates ? " Mournful thoughts of the uncer- 
tain fate of his beloved daughter, rushed with a thrill 
of horror through his mind. His anxiety was raised 
to the highest pitch. His flushed cheek and clenched 
hand showed the wrath that rankled within. But 
in a moment all was calm, and his ruffled temper be- 
came quiet and serene as a summer's eve. As yet, 
his vision had not penetrated the inmost recesses of 
the desolate and forsaken cabin ; impenetrable dark- 
ness obscured the view, and he mused in mute aston- 
ishment upon the cheerless prospect around him. In- 
tent upon unraveling the mystery, he struck a hasty 
spark from his flint and steel, and from his pouch of 
punkwood kindled a fire, the light of which showed 
him that some destroying hand had been at work. 

Groping about for some vestige whereby to dis- 
cover the fate of his beloved child, nothing could be 
found that satisfied his anxious mind that harm had 
befallen her. In a state of uncertainty and doubt, he 
wrapped himself in the ample folds of his blanket, 
closed the door of the cabin, extinguished the fire he 
had lighted, and stretched his weary limbs upon the 
floor, thus to await the light of another day, and then 
renew his search. 



126 THE chief's kevenge. 

Ta-ioMs-quan-ta^ left alone to his melancholy med- 
itations, could not obtain that refreshing sleep so ne- 
cessary to renovate his tired frame. He shifted from 
side to side, and turned upon his hard couch ; still no 
rest came to relieve him. Long and tedious were 
the silent hours that passed. That awful period 
of suspense, deepened by the loneliness of night, 
would have overcome one possessed of less stoical in- 
difference or a fainter heart. But as a brave of a 
noble nation, he knew no fear. It was the uncer- 
tainty of fate, not the dread of events, that perplexed 
him. Although there was much of mystery in the 
past, there was no terror of the present, or fear of the 
future. 

At length the gloomy night gave place to the dawn- 
ing day, and feverish sleep to watchful waking. As 
the first glimmerings of light brightened the sky, Ta- 
whis-quan-ta arose from his wooden couch and walked 
forth. His quick and penetrating eye soon discov- 
ered traces of the footprints of white men. " Has the 
pale face been here, and has his hand been laid 
roughly or rashly upon an Onondaga maid," ex- 
claimed the agonized chief, as he discovered places 
indicative of strife and struggle ? At length, collect- 
ing himself, he forbore farther exclamation, and re- 
solved to leave the spot and seek for the dear object 
of his affections. Several days were spent in fruitless 
wanderings, and no tidings could be gleaned to reveal 
the history of events which must have transpired to 
render desolate the cabin of his friends. His dau2:hter 



THE chiek's kevenge. 127 

had not been seen, nor her companions, since the daj 
ho left tliem. Everything seemed still to be vailed 
in the most impenetrable obscurity. 

" Could she," murmured the chief, " have returned 
to her home ; would she have retraced a trackless 
wilderness, unaided and alone, or would her friends 
have accompanied her on the perilous journey ? " 
And here again was he lost in the contemplation of 
imaginable circumstances, all of which only tended 
more and more to mystify and perplex. As nothing 
could be heard of the Indian girl, and as it could not 
be ascertained whether or not she had returned to 
Onondaga, he speedily resolved to bend his steps 
towards home. Upon his arrival, diligent inquiry 
was made throughout the canton, but no one had 
seen the beloved Agonla^ the idol of the nation. 
Satisfied that she had not returned, the bereaved pa- 
rent, with a heavy heart, retraced his steps to the 
wilds of Canada, and again surveyed the deserted 
cabin. Like a chafed panther, he roamed far and 
wide through the dreary forest, still hoping to obtain 
some clue to the hidden mystery. Lonely indeed 
were the hours spent in fruitless search. Toilsome 
above measure were his journeyings, and worn and 
weary were his limbs, as they sunk nightly to repose. 
As the stricken father was wandering about in almost 
hopeless despair, in the vicinity of Montreal, he fell 
in with a young Indian, who informed him that a 
Frenchman living at no great distance, had been seen 
hunting in the vicinity of his friend's cabin, and on 



128 THE chief's revenge. 

liis return, had in charge an Indian girl ; but nothing 
more could he tell. With this vague report, new 
liorht shot across the mind of the bereaved chieftain : 
a ray of hope gleamed in his bosom. ]^ot a moment 
was lost. He wended his way to the embowered 
cottage of the white man, and there in tones of in- 
jured pride and dignity, demanded an explanation 
of the unusual occurrence, as related by his Indian 
friend. Surprised at this sudden intrusion, the 
Frenchman evaded a direct answer, but in the 
evasion betrayed too plainly the inward work- 
ings of a guilty conscience. Satisfied in his own 
mind that he was on the right track, the persevering 
chief strode back to the forest, and there, alone in the 
wild solitude of nature, he vowed vengeance. But 
ere he gave full vent to this fell passion, he resolved 
to probe the matter to the bottom. For many a day 
did the patient chieftain linger around the cottage of 
the guilty Frenchman. Inquiries were made of every 
one he met relative to the fate of his long-lost daugh- 
ter, but none could furnish the most distant tidings 
of her fate. Weeks and months had passed away 
with no result but fruitless labor; still, the energy, 
subtlety , and perseverance of the chief had not lan- 
guished, nor was his patience in the least abated. 
Being completely satisfied of the guilt of the French- 
man, yet not of its depth and malignity, he sought to 
obtain by stratagem that information which could not 
be gained by direct aj^pliances. 
Not far distant lived an Indian maiden, who afore- 



THE chief's revenge. 129 

time had been an inmate of the Frenchman's family. 
Well was she known to him, and to her was confided 
a plan whereby the truth could be wrested from the 
wily deceiver. To her was the scheme communica- 
ted, and to her was committed the task of working 
its consummation. 

To lull suspicion already excited in the French- 
man's breast, Ta-whis-quan-ta returned to his home 
at Onondaga, gratified with the reflection that time 
would reveal the truth, and bring a season of revenge. 

ThQfeminin esjnon commended herself to the favor 
of the unsuspecting Frenchman, who in turn became 
interested in her personal charms and womanly graces. 
Time rolled on, and the too confiding Frenchman, 
charmed with the witchery of the dark-haired girl, 
w^ho had artfully ingratiated herself into his most ten- 
der afifections, was, by her dextrous management, 
thrown off his guard. In a fatal moment, w^ith un- 
blushing confidence, he revealed to her the story of 
the abduction of the daughter of Tu-whis-quan-ta. 
With the most lively feeling, in perfect reliance upon 
her trustfulness to him, he made, in substance, the 
following narration : While on a hunting excursion, 
he had passed the cabin within which the fair Agoiila 
was a visitor. Turning in thither to quench his thirst, 
the cup was presented by the hand of the daughter 
of Ta-whis-quan-ta^ and with such grace, that the 
heart of the Frenchman was smitten, and he became 
captivated by her modesty and beauty. 
In the solitude of the forest, for the time being, with 
F* 9 



130 THE CHIEF'S KEVENGE. 

no male attendant, lived the friends of the Onondaga 
maid. To them the hunter made known his wish to 
spend the approaching night. To liim the rude hospi- 
tality of their Indian cabin was freely extended, while 
he, with all the cliaracteristic vivacity of his nation, 
entertained his hostess and her companions, with thrill- 
ing tales of the border, and of his gallantries among 
the dusky maidens of the forest. Better had it been 
for him had his i:)resence been with his countrymen 
at Quebec, for there, was needed the help of all who 
could, by word or deed, lend a helping hand, or by 
wielding the Canadian lance, or the sabre of St. Louis, 
do earnest battle for the cause of the colony and the 
king of France. 

The amorous heart of the Frenchman entertained 
no partiality for the alarms of war, but with the 
timidity of a child, shrunk from scenes of danger. 
Long and archly did he continue his conversations, 
and won much upon the guileless simplicity and art- 
lessness of his hostess and her companions. Shrewdly 
did he weave his wiles, and, with the captivating, 
bland, and fascinating charm of the basilisk, did he 
hold, under magical influence, his unsophisticated 
listeners. With promises rich and arts seductive, did 
he seek to move the pure heart of the Onondaga maid. 
From all his approaches, she turned with horror and 
disdain. Her troth had been plighted to an Onon- 
daga brave, and to him only would she prove true. 
To her, the smiles and affected speech of the hunter 
were repulsive. 'None of his arts were avaihible in 



THE chief's revenge. 131 

enticing her from the path of virtuous innocence. 
" Chagrined by disappointuient, and despairing of suc- 
cess, the Frenchman proceeded on his way, but the 
sylph-like form of the Indian girl haunted him wher- 
ever he went. Whether in pursuit of the bounding 
deer, or watching the returning rounds of the hound- 
hunted fox, or reclining at night on the ground, 
wrapped in his blanket, his day dreams were only of 
her, and at night, sleep vanished from his eyelids, while 
sweet, voluptuous visions of the future continually 
swept over his feverish brow. 'Nevev at rest, and 
always ill at ease, he again returned to the cabin of 
the Onondagas, and again feasted his eyes upon the 
much caressed object of his affections. Although 
graced with beauty of person and fascinating speech, 
none of his attractions had power to move the heart 
of the dark-eyed maiden, to whom his attentions were 
particularly directed. With scorn and contempt she 
rejected all advances, and with a hauteur that would 
have done honor to a princess, she strode from his 
presence, hoping never to see him more. Mortified 
at so firm a denial, disappointed and discouraged at 
the ill success of his nefarious scheme, he left the 
humble cabin, and wended his way towards home. 
The sting of disappointment rankled sorely in his 
bosom. Rejection by one whom he thought easy of 
conquest, and she, too, an Indian girl, was more than 
his haughty pride could brook. Instead of looking 
upon the high-souled maid with esteem and reverence 
for her virtues, he resolved not to be thwarted in his 



132 

purposes. Mortified pride and disappointed hopes 
were more than his lascivious heart would endure. 
Long and wistfully did he seek some new device 
whereby he might become possessed of the proud girl 
of the forest. To win her by fair means was more 
than he could expect, after the cold repulses with 
which he had been already met, and at last he pre- 
sumed to accomplish by force, what could not be ef- 
fected by persuasion. 

'Not far from his dwelling, was the wigwam of a 
party of Algonquins, whose deadly national hatred 
of the Iroquois knew no limits. In this his hour of 
need, the subtle Frenchman made overtures to the 
Algonquins and a few renegade whites, to whom he 
revealed his plans. Nothing loth, by the promise of 
a rich reward, the party were engaged to abduct the 
unsuspecting girl from her forest retreat, and place 
her at the Frenchman's disposal. Silent as the grave, 
on the verge of night's dark noon, with stealthy step 
the ruffian band surrounded the hut within which was 
couched the daughter of Ta-whis-quan-ta, and while 
the harmless inmates were locked fast in the embrace 
of slumber, tore the hapless maid away. In vain did 
she struggle to be released. In vain did she protest 
against their barbarous cruelty. But the iron gripe 
of the Algonquins was upon her tender limbs ; her 
efi*orts were powerless ; none were near to rescue. 

Well was it for them that the Onondaga warriors 
were not near. Well for them that the sound of her 
voice in distress was. not heard by the braves of the 



133 

Iroquois. On, on, pushed the Algonquins with their 
prize. Swift, swift, flew the mercenary wretches with 
their victim. Before them, a runner was dispatched 
to advise the Frenchman of their success. As the 
day dawned, the remaining inmates of the forest cabin, 
in affright left their lone lodge, and took their solitary 
way deep into the fastnesses of the wilderness, leav- 
ing their habitation desolate, as found by Td-whis- 
quan-ta. 

Before the retreating sun sunk below the western 
horizon, on the day after the seizure, the party were 
met by the Frenchman, who was in ecstasies at the 
success of the villainous enterprise. To him was the 
precious treasure consigned, and with the promised 
reward, the guilty Algonquins departed, leaving the 
base, unprincijDled Frenchman to exult in the vileness 
and venality of his horrible iniquity. Having now 
the object of his passion within his, grasp, he presumed 
an easy conquest. But in all his approaches the 
same inflexible, determined resistance presented itself. 
JS'either the soothing voice of the charmer, nor the 
subdued threats of a goaded debauchee, could cause 
the unyielding girl to swerve from her high resolve. 
Finding her alike inaccessible by the allurements of 
flattery or rewards, by the fear of punishment or 
threats, the cowardly dastard quailed beneath her 
haughty glance and shivered in dismay. Upon re- 
flection, he found himself in a dilemma from which 
it was no very easy matter to extricate himself. To 
give her liberty to return to her friends and home, 



134 

would subject him to the vengeance of her country- 
men. To retain her, would be a source of continued 
torment and exposure. To destroy her, would make 
him amenable to the laws of the land for a high 
crime. What could he do and escape the dreaded 
retribution of an infuriated father, at the head of a 
desperate and savage horde, and evade the salutary 
decree of man for the general safety of society. The 
fear of an offended Deity had not crossed his mind. 
Already was he too deeply steeped in iniquity to lieed 
the admonitions of conscience, or the mandates of 
his Maker. Again he had recourse to the treacherous 
Algonquins, who, for a few pieces of the Frenchman's 
gold, engaged to remove the innocent girl forever 
from mortal ken. And so it was. In the dark and 
silent hour of midnight, she was again led forth into 
the depths of a gloomy forest. The hatchet did its 
murderous work. The devoted maiden sunk beneath 
its deadly blows, and nought but her relentless mur- 
derers, the twinkling stars, and the leafy trees, bore 
witness to the melancholy catastrophe. The gentle 
wind stirring the leaves, murmured a requiem over 
her new made grave, and in subdued cadence sighed 
mournfully as her sweet spirit took its upward flight 
to the Great Spirit land above. 

It was thus that the story of Agonla was told by 
the guilty Frenchman to the wily Algonquin maid, 
who acted so well the part assigned her. Soon after 
this communication was made, the information was 
conveyed to Onondaga. With a stoicism that would 



THE CHIEFS REVENGE. 135 

have done honor to the prince of cynics, was the 
hateful tidings received by Ta-iohis-qnan-tct. No 
look of sorrow betrayed the workings of liis mind ; 
no sigh of anguish escaped his lips, nor glistening 
tear moistened his manly cheek. But one feeling 
pervaded his heart. It was too mighty for utterance. 
Kevenge ! Eevenge ! sat heavy on his soul. Every 
muscle was nerved for daring. His powerful arm 
was raised for vengeance, and silently to the Great 
Spirit he vowed to have it. 

A score of braves were summoned to his side, to 
whom was revealed the story of his wrongs. They 
severally were sworn to avenge the death of the 
daughter of their chief. Without declaring the ob- 
ject of their expedition, they silently left the Onon- 
daga valley, ostensibly on a hunting excursion. For 
many a weary day they patiently and warily moved 
on towards the scene of the melancholy catastrophe. 
Ta-whis-quan-ta alone, in advance of his comrades, 
approached the dwelling-place of the Frenchman, but 
all was dark and dismal within. From some trifling 
circumstance, his suspicions had been aroused ; he 
surmised that some evil design was meditated against 
him, and he had left his rural home, for another in 
the bustling city of Montreal. While reconnoitering 
the Frenchman's premises, and searching the neigh- 
borhood, he fell in with his former confidant, the fe- 
male spy, who had so successfully acted her part. 
After a short conference with her, in which she con- 
firmed all that had before been related, he learned 



with regret that his enemy had departed. Although 
in a degree prepared for a repetition of the melan- 
choly tidings of which he had been forewarned ; still, 
when the story was repeated by one who had received 
the truth from the lips of the heartless destroyer of 
his daughter, for an instant the heart of the chief fal- 
tered within him. It seemed more than his wounded 
spirit could bear. With a heavy heart, he retired to 
the company of his followers, who were awaiting his 
return with the utmost impatience. To them the 
confirmation of the story of his wrongs was repeated. 
A vow of vengeance was solemnly made, and again 
and again was it most religiously ratified. I^ot 
knowing where to find the hiding-place of the wicked 
Frenchman, their steps were bent towards the little 
hamlet of the unsuspecting Algonquins. Shielded 
by the darkness of the night, they stole within their 
rude enclosure of palisades and brush-wood, and ere 
their sleeping senses were aronsed, the last of the 
Algonquin party had closed his eyes in death ; not 
a man, woman or child escaped the tomahawk of the 
infuriated Onondagas. 

One important object of the expedition being ac- 
complished, the thing next most desirable was to find 
the hiding place of the Frenchman, who, it was as- 
certained had removed himself from Montreal. Long 
and anxiously did they scour the surrounding forests, 
in search of the destroyer. Failing in their efibrts to 
find the remotest trace of him, the Onondagas, all 
save Ta-whis-quan-ta^ returned to their homes. He, 



137 

not satisfied, still lingered in the neighborhood, ho- 
ping to gain some tidings of the detested Frenchman. 
But he returned not, nor could the chief discover the 
faintest trace of his abiding place, and finally he, too, 
resolv^ed to return. Before leaving, however, he 
sought and found the little mound that contained the 
remains of his daughter, and there, in the desolate 
forest, in the presence of the Great Spirit, over the 
dust of his loved one, renewed his vow of revenge 
upon the guiltj head of the murderer. Directly af- 
terwards he returned to Onondaga. There, many a 
heart beat in unison with his, and all mourned the 
loss he had sustained. 

Through a long and dreary winter, the chief grieved 
for the loss of the sweet fawn of his bosom. As the 
genial spring sent forth its fragrant blossoms, and the 
returning sun of summer apjjroached, making all na- 
ture joyous and gay, the chief again aj^proached the 
cabin of the Frenchman in quest of the disturber of 
his peace. He had not returned. It seemed that 
some mysterious emissary of fate shielded him from 
harm. During the entire summer, the patient chief 
hung around the neighborhood seeking the object of 
his vengeance, but nowhere could he be found. 

Often would he visit the mound which his hand had 
raised over the dust of his daughter, and long did he 
mournfully brood over the overwhelming calamity 
of his bereavement. For five successive seasons, as 
the balmy breath of spring dispelled the winter's 
gloom, and the genial sun clothed the earth with 



138 THE chief's kevenge. 

gladness, the dejected chief visited the little moss-cov- 
ered grave of his daughter, and there mourned her 
sad fate in bitterness and woe. Without the least 
show of impatience, he traversed the trackless forest, 
and among the abodes of white men unremittingly 
sought the object of his hatred and revenge. But no 
raj of hope came, and in despondency, though not in 
despair, he prepared to return to his home. The 
chillino: blasts of winter found the red chieftain anions: 
his friends at Onondaga, gathering fresh resolution 
from disappointment, and new hopes from delay ; for 
he well knew, that if he lived, a day of retribution 
would surely come, that the time for revenge could 
not fail. 

Five lingering years passed away, and in everyone, 
the summer was diligently spent in the same fruitless 
pursuit. The sixth advanced, and as the summer sun 
again made all nature cheerful with its approach, the 
murky chieftain was again lurking in his former 
haunts. He for once learned that his detested enemy 
had returned only for a little season, but was now 
away. A female of his household occupied his se- 
questered cottage, and there, in supposed security, 
not suspecting evil or danger, amidst the joys of 
peace, plenty and repose, they spent their happy 
hours. Day after day Ta-icJds-quan-ta loitered around 
the cottage, seeking to catch a glimpse of his foe. 
Night after night he pillowed his head upon the earth, 
with his revenge unsatisfied. It seemed to him that 
the Great Spirit had interposed to save the French- 



139 

man from his grasp. Still brooding over his bereave- 
ment, his vengeance still nnsatiated, the Frenchman 
forever beyond his reach, with little prospect of ever 
encountering him, his patience continually on the 
rack, with no certainty that his object would ever be 
fully accomplished, the chief resolved to wreak his 
vengeance upon the first object to which the French- 
man was endeared. 

At sundry times the chief had seen a charming lit- 
tle daughter of the Frenchman, sporting in all the 
thoughtless vivacity and gayety of childish gambol 
and frolic. Finding no other object more fitting, he 
resolved upon sacrificing her, an innocent victim to 
his base and demoniac passion. From day to day he 
concealed himself in a clump of shrubberry near by, 
and there, like a wild beast, he crouched to pounce 
upon his prey. On a beautiful afternoon, as the twi- 
light began to mark the approach of night, the little 
innocent in merry play bent her agile steps towards 
the lurking place of the sable chief, who, in an instant 
seized her, and in spite of her cries and struggles, 
bore her away in triumph. The poor, frightened, 
distracted child, uttered the most heart-rending shrieks 
and entreaties to no avail. Her stifled sobs and sighs 
had no effect to soften the stony heart of the relent- 
less chief. Far into the depths of the dark wood, he 
had erected a temporary cabin of sticks and brush- 
wood so artfully wrought as to escape all common 
observation, which for a long time had been the 
secret place of his concealment. Thither he bore his 



140 

helpless prize, and there it was his purpose to sacri- 
fice the lovely being to his insatiate demon, Revenge. 
Upon the night which succeeded the seizure of the 
dear little innocent, the full moon rose with unusual 
splendor. Many of the larger stars lent their full 
rays to enrich the scene, while the gentle breeze just 
stirred the leafy canopy over their heads, and softly 
fanned the throbbing temples of the child. The 
chief, with a stern devotion and the most earnest so- 
licitude, implored the '^ Mother-of-the-Months^^ to 
know, whether the victim in his possession would be 
a sufiicient and acceptable atonement for the injury 
he had received. E"o answer came to soothe his 
heart. He returned straightway to his cabin, deter- 
mined to wreak his vengeance upon the guiltless cap- 
tive, and immediately return home. With this view, 
he led her forth a little space, told her that she was 
doomed to die for the wickedness of her father, that 
her hour was at hand, and she must prepare for the 
worst. The trembling girl was too much affrighted 
to answer, and too much agitated to remonstrate. She 
raised her little hands in agony to heaven, her eyes 
suffused with tears, and with a look of indescribable 
anguish, and an expression of horror depicted on her 
countenance, that almost softened the flinty heart of 
the savage, she in the most imploring attitude, with 
upturned eyes, submitted to her impending fate. 
Without granting time for a revolution in his feelings, 
the spell-bound chief raised high his polished toma- 
hawk — a yell of fury echoed through the trees — 



THE chief's revenge. 141 

death seemed sure of his victim — the glittering steel 
gleamed in the moon's pale beams, yet, while speed- 
ing on its hateful errand, a slender bough overhead 
caught the fatally descending weapon ; its force was 
broken, and it fell harmless to the ground. The chief 
considered this as a special interposition of the Great 
Spirit to save the life of the child. His heart re- 
lented — the murderous steel was replaced in his belt, 
to repose till a more convenient season, and the as- 
tonished child was assured that she was safe from 
harm ; and although alone, and a prisoner in a gloomy 
forest with a ferocious savage, she felt secure. 

In time the child became in a manner reconciled 
to the forced condition from which it was in vain for 
her to try to escape. She resumed her wonted cheer- 
fulness, and soon became happy in the company of 
her new protector, who now used every exertion to 
win her to himself. 

Torwhis-quan-ta well judged that ere long the 
friends of the Frenchman would be out in search of 
his abducted daughter, and in order to bring them 
within his reach, in a conspicuous place he disposed 
of most of the child's garments upon branches of the 
surrounding trees, as a decoy to those who might en- 
gage in the search. These he had stained in the blood 
of a wild beast, that it might appear as if she had 
been slain. He carved the emblem of his tribe upon 
a tree, plainly to be seen, that his pursuers might not 
be in doubt who was the guilty homicide ; and in se- 
cret, patiently awaited the coming of those who 



142 THE chief's eevenge. 

might pursue. The mind of the chief felt relief, but 
was not entirely at ease. A tumultuous throbbing 
racked his bosom. The full object of his wishes had 
not been accomplished. He had not obtained his full 
revenge. A being was abroad whose voice had been 
raised falsely to charm, whose merciless hand had 
been uplifted against innocence, whose wicked heart 
had been blackened with treachery and murder, and 
whose very breath tainted the pure atmosphere of 
heaven. Years had been fruitlessly spent to obtain 
the only redress esteemed honorable among the red 
men of the forest. The precious time was unre- 
deemed, and while the cruel disturber of his peace 
was a habitant of earth, the passion of the savage 
could not be satisfied, nor his conscience be at peace. 
A silent monitor within, bade him " stay," and he 
yielded in willing obedience to its promptings. 

Some of the inmates of the Frenchman's family 
had witnessed the seizure of his daughter, and saw 
her borne away by the savage, beyond the reach of 
family and friends. Intelligence of the heart-rending 
occurrence was conveyed to the unsuspecting French- 
man, who had vainly concluded that the wrath of 
the injured chief was only directed against himself. 
He immediately returned, raised a company of his 
neighbors, who, with some Indians, proceeded abroad 
to search. In the woods, not a league distant from 
the house, the party discovered the disheveled and 
blood-stained garments in the most unseemly disor- 
der, pending from the branches, as they had been left 



143 

by the chief. Upon sight of the dismal relics and 
mementoes of his lost child, the bereaved parent 
burst forth into a perfect paroxysm of grief He 
mourned the loss of his beloved one, as only a parent 
can mourn, and the tears of bitter sorrow, of anguish 
and of woe, shed on the solemn occasion, told plainly 
the supreme hold she had uj)on his affections. Groans 
and sighs were continually uttered, and he wrung his 
hands in all the bitterness and horror of despair. He 
mourned her as certainly dead, with the sure evidence 
of her dissolution before him. Well he knew by 
whose hand she had been seized, and the reason why 
she had thus fallen within the grasp of savage cru- 
elty. Eepentance for his wickedness, for an instant 
entered his sorrowing bosom. Remorse seized his 
guilty soul. Reason lost its sway. Delirium oblit- 
erated his bewildered senses, and for the moment he 
became a raving maniac. 

While the party were surveying the sad and sol- 
emn scene, and while they were collecting the tat- 
tered garments, of which the object of their search 
had been despoiled, Ta-whis-quan-ta, who had con- 
tinually watched the chosen spot of his vengeance, 
with a stealthy step had crept very near to the French- 
man and his party. While he was involuntarily 
yielding to the agony of despair, and while his friends 
were making ready to depart, having given up all 
further pursuit, the wily chieftain with a tiger's 
bound leaped into their very midst, seized the af- 
frighted Frenchman by the throat, and shouted at 



144 THE chief's eeyj:]s^ge. 

the highest pitcfi of his voice, " Ta-whis-quan-ta ! 
— Agonla ! — revenge ! " While the echo of these 
thrilling words was reverberating through the trees, 
the hunting knife of Ta-whis-qiian-ta pierced the 
heart of the ghastly Frenchman. His life-blood fol- 
lowed the crimsoned stedr, and his scalp — a most pre- 
cious trophy — quickly yielded under the i^racticed 
hand of the chief. All this was but the w^ork of an 
instant. A stifled cry and gurgling sound succeeded, 
and all that was mortal of an accomplished libertine, 
a crafty roue, and criminal debauchee, became a 
prostrate lump of senseless clay. 

So "unexpectedly and so quickly had these events 
transpired, that none had time or opportunity to in- 
terpose, and before any one could recover sufiicient 
thought for action, the agile chief had accomplished 
his purpose, and like the lightning's evanescent flash 
had disappeared from their sight forever. The dreary 
woods covered his retreat, and there, within their 
gloomy recess, with the wild, unsullied devotion of 
his race, he poured out his heart in gratitude and 
thankfulness to the Great Spirit, for this interposition 
in his favor, and at last crowning his persevering ex- 
ertions with success, and finally granting w^iat he 
had so long and anxiously desired and unremittingly 
sought — complete revenge. There was no decided ef- 
fort made to follow or secure the flying chief. The 
white men had enough in hand to carry home their 
deceased friend, and the Indians, who might have se- 
cured him, dared not violate a sacred, immutable 



THE chief's kevenqe. 145 

law of the savage: "Life for life, eye for eye, tooth 
for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot," for well they 
knew the guiltiness of the slain man, and what had 
passed was counted a worthy deed of heroic and 
righteous vengeance. 

Ta-whis-quan-ta returne^ to his brushwood cabin, 
where he had left his little captive in lonely confine- 
ment. "With a familiar smile flowing from a con- 
science void of offense, with the most fatherly affec- 
tion he accosted the little fair one, told her of the 
sweets of the red man's home, and the joys and pleas- 
ures of his little friends in their childish sports, and 
all in such a winning manner, as almost to cause her 
to forget her sorrows, the endearments of home, and 
to rejoice in her new protector. Early on the mor- 
row, with his little protege, the chief bent his steps 
towards Onondaga. It was a tedious journey for one 
so young and fragile to undertake, but for many a 
lonely mile he carried the precious little voyageur 
upon his back, while the way was made cheerful by 
the innocent prattle of the child, and the tender ca- 
resses of the chief. On the road, she was tauglit to 
call him father, and before they had arrived at their 
journey's end, she really appeared to believe he was 
such. 

In due time they arrived at Onondaga. A council 
was convened, and the whole narrative of events re- 
hearsed before the wisdom of the assembled nation, 
and the valor, perseverance and success of Ta-wMs- 
quan-ta was pronounced " good." 



^ 10 



146 

Agreeably to long established usage iu similar 
cases, it was proposed by the friends of the chief, that 
the little stranger should be adopted and become a 
member of his family, to supply the place made va- 
cant by the death of the much beloved and deeply 
lamented Agonla^ whose untimely fate had long been 
deplored. The proposition was accepted with ap- 
plause, and immediately, with all the formality and 
ceremony practiced upon such occasions, the little 
French orphan was religiously adopted into the On- 
ondaga nation. She received the name '''' Agonla^'* 
and was duly affiliated with the family of Ta-whis- 
quan4a. The circumstances connected with her cap- 
tivity and the death of her father, were never men- 
tioned in her presence, and the whole subject was 
obliterated from her mind forever. She ever re- 
mained in ignorance of her father's fate, and her 
friends in Canada always mourned her as dead. So 
indulgent and agreeable were her new friends to her, 
that she never once sighed for the home she had left, 
or the pleasant scenes and dear objects of her child- 
hood. She grew up sincerely beloved by all who 
knew her, and became a pattern of excellence to the 
red maidens of the Onondaga valley. She afterward 
married a young chief, by whom she had children, 
in the veins of whose descendants flows some of the 
noblest blood of the Onondagas. 

At the close of the council, Ta-whis-quan-ta ex- 
hibited the scalp of the deceased Frenchman. He 
strained it over a hoop of brushwood to its utmost 



THE chief's revenge. 147 

tension, and from a pin in tlie smoke-place of liis wig- 
wam was suspended this strange symbol and me- 
mento of victory and revenge. Hero in his own 
cabin, as often as he returned from the fatigues of the 
chase, or the clamors of. the council, he lighted his 
pipe, and while the savorj^moke ascended in grace- 
ful wreaths as incense to the Great Spirit, the chief, 
with emotions of unmingled satisfaction and delight, 
exultingly feasted his morbid senses upon the dry 
and shriveled scalp of his victim, still pampering 
with feelings of the keenest gratification and ex- 
quisite pleasure, the most vindictive passion of the 
human heart. There, in pensive silence he sat, tran- 
quil and satisfied — glorying that he had done his duty 
manfully as an avenger. 

For many years Ta-whis-quan-ta bore rule in his 
nation as a chief of merit, and was in no way remark- 
able for ferocity of temper or malignity of S2:>irit above 
his fellows. He was ever kind to the early settlers 
of Onondaga, and many distinguished acts of benevo- 
lence and generosity have been related of him by the 
pioneers of this favored country, who first made his 
acquaintance. 

Ta-whis-quan-ta was noted as a famous hunter, and 
while out on one of his hunting excursions, he fell 
down dead, without an instant of premonition, in a 
clump of low j)ines, on the western shore of Onon- 
daga Lake. Although in company with a party of 
his countrymen at the time, none, through super- 
stitious fear, dared apj) roach his remains and give 



148 THE chief's revenge. 

them burial. There, wrapped in his blanket, he lay 
exposed to the scorchings of a summer's sun, to 
moulder and to rot. That year (ISOO) was remarka- 
ble for the coldness of the summer months. The crop 
of Indian corn was shortened, and little if any came 
to maturity. A special qpmcil of the Onondaga na- 
tion was called, to ascertain the reason, when it was 
gravely and deliberately resolved, " that the cause of 
the cold season must he because Ta-whis-quan-ta lay 
cold in his IJan'ket.'^^ Forthwith runners were dis- 
patched among the scattering inhabitants, then newly 
settled in Onondaga county, to have them perform 
the last rites of sepulchre to the departed chief. 
According to this request, the settlers assembled, 
and with due solemnity covered the bones of the 
chief with earth, on the spot where the Great-Master- 
of-Breath so suddenly extinguished his lamp of life. 
There, just above the earth's surface, among the pines, 
a little mound was raised, and to this day it is known 
among the Indians as the last resting place of 
Ta-whis-quan-ta, 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 

"Indulge, my native land, indulge the tear, 
That steals impassioned o'er a nation's doom. 
To me each twig of Adam's stock is near, 
And sorrows fall upon an Indian's tomb. 
And oh, ye chiefs! in yonder starry home, 
Accept the humble tribute of this rhyme ; 
Your gallant deeds, in Greece or haughty Rome, 
By Maro sung, or Homer's harp sublime, 
Had charmed the world's wide round and triumphed over time." 
Dwight's Destruction of the Pequots. 

Among the stirring scenes with which the early 
white settlers of Onondaga county were familiar, was 
one possessing peculiar interest. It originated in a 
quarrel between a couple of hunters — the one a Cay- 
uga, the other an Onondaga. Sides were taken by 
the clans to which the hunters severally belonged, 
and a deadly feud between thenn was the consequence. 
The circumstances were these : On one of those hunt- 
ing excursions so common to all our aboriginal tribes, 
a hunter of the Cayugas, who had become excited in 
the chase of a stately buck, and not sufficiently re- 
garding the rights of liis neighbors, or perhaps uncon- 



150 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

scions that he was a trespasser beyond the fixed boun- 
daries and limits of the hunting grounds assigned 
from time immemorial to his nation, had, in the ea- 
gerness of the pursuit, pushed far into the domain 
forever acknowledged as belonging exclusivelj to the 
hunters of the ^'Feojole of the HilhP To slay a deer 
upon the hunting-grounds of another nation, was con- 
sidered a serious crime, and one that should be atoned 
for by suitable reparation, by restoration, or the pay- 
ment of a penalty, together with an acceptable apol- 
ogy for the wrong. If these requirements were not 
complied with, the injured party claimed the right of 
summary vengeance. The Cayuga before named had 
proceeded far into the Onondaga's territory, and 
thoughtlessly let fly an arrow at the weary animal 
which had led him a long and tiresome chase. The 
fatal missile had entered the heart of the deer, which 
after a few bounds, fell prostrate upon the ground. 
The twang of the Cayuga's bowstring fell upon the 
ear of an Onondaga hunter, who was accidentally 
passing that way. He listened a moment, and the 
stricken deer lay dead at his feet. The Cayuga ad- 
vanced to claim his prize, and to bear it off in triumph. 
His hand had scarcely been extended towards the 
crimsoned carcass of- the an tiered prey, when the 
liitherto unperceived and silent Onondaga thus ac- 
costed him : 

"And does the Cayuga presume to tread the well- 
stored hunting-grounds of the Onondagas ? Is there 
no game in the forests of the Cayugas ? Does the 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 151 

Cayuga brave starve and famish for want of venison 
to sustain him ? If so, take up thy burden and flee 
to the land of thine inheritance, and feast upon the 
gift of an Onondaga warrior. But if it is to gratify 
a Lawless thirst for plunder, or in wantonness to filch 
from my nation those rich blessings which the Great 
Spirit has bountifully vouchsafed to us, thou knowest 
thou hast done us wrong, and well thou knowest the 
imperative necessity of immediate reparation and 
xitonement. None, with impunity, shall wilfully tres- 
pass on the hunting-grounds of the Onondagas ; and 
the words of an Eagle shall make it good." 

" Dost thou think," said the Cayuga, " that any of 
my people starve, or lack meat, or that they are stinted 
in any of the good gifts of the Great Spirit ? Know 
this : that he is as bountiful to the Cayuga as to the 
Onondaga, and that the forest deer are as free to me 
as to you, and although this was fattened on the broad 
hunting-grounds of the Cayugas, and in the heat of 
the chase, as it were by accident, was pursued into 
the territory of the Onondagas, and there slain, it was 
nevertheless the property of the Cayuga. You may 
lay claim to my venison, and insist upon its being 
restored to you, and demand satisfaction for pre- 
tended encroacliments upon the rights of the Onon- 
dagas ; but you will remember to seek redress where 
best you can find it, for it shall never be said that a 
Heron of the Cayugas yielded tamely to insult or in- 
justice, or quailed at the insolence of an Eagle of the 
Onondagas." 



162 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

By this speech of the Cayuga, delivered with an 
air of defiance, the slumbering passions of the Onon- 
daga were awakened. The national pride of both 
hunters became excited. The long-embittered preju- 
dices of clanship were aroused, and each one priding 
himself upon his own chivalrous honor, prepared to 
eettle the matter by mortal combat. The conflict was 
gallantly contested. It was long, violent, and doubt- 
ful, but finally terminated in the death of the Cayuga. 

The clan of the White Heron of the Cayugas was 
highly exasperated at the murder of one of their most 
sagacious hunters and bravest warriors. In their 
wrath, they resolved speedily to avenge the death of 
their clansman. The person of the murderer was 
known, and it was impossible for him to escape the 
vigilance of the keen-sighted Cayugas. It was deemed 
indecorous to follow him to his castle and dispatch 
him in presence of his people, although this course 
was admissible, and not contrary to the laws by which 
Indian nations are governed. It was decided to send 
a party of two to watch his movements, and when an 
opportunity presented, privately to slay the delinquent 
and return. Accordingly, two trusty braves were se- 
lected from the clan of the Herons, who at once pro- 
ceeded on their trusty errand. For more than a year, 
the indefatigable warriors hung around the hills of 
the Onondagas, watching with patience and anxiety 
the movements of the busy throng in the valley. Not 
a warrior or hunter could depart the castle, but a 
Cayuga crossed his track, and learned his errand and 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 163 

destination. It was deemed an essential part of the 
plan to cut off the delinquent without the knowledge 
of his clan, or the exposure of the avenger. 

After a long and tedious season of watchfulness 
and trial, the guilty Onondaga was seen to leave the 
valley, in company with a numerous band, for a win- 
ter's hunt. It had been no design of the Onondaga 
brave to seclude himself, or in the least to evade the 
Cayugas, who he knew were on his track, secretly 
watching every movement, and only awaiting a favor- 
able opportunity to dispatch him. His goings out and 
comings in had not been restricted on their account ; 
but, as usual, he had on all occasions departed and 
returned with boldness and freedom. The hunting 
party proceeded to the north of Oneida Lake, and 
were unusually successful in the slaughter of game. 
Sometimes the company was divided into small par- 
ties ; at other times they acted collectively, and again 
they were engaged, each on his own account. But, 
whether single or in company, the vigilant Cayugas 
were ever on the watch, keeping a constant look-out, 
seeking a favorable opportunity for the accomplish- 
ment of their fell purpose. Patient of fatigue, fear- 
less of danger, and untiring in their efforts, they per- 
severingly held on, till at length the long-sought 
opportunity presented itself. The doomed Onondaga, 
while alone, pursuing his vocation with all the ardor 
of an accomplished hunter, unmindful of danger, in- 
tent only upon the destruction of his game, yet pur- 
suing and still pursued, was at length separated and 



154: THE DEADLY FEUD. 

beset by the wily Cayugas. His path was crossed — 
his trail was followed, till his tall form was seen rap- 
idly moving onward among the trees, thoughtless, 
unconcerned, and regardless of consequences. A 
shrill shout from the Cayugas brought the Onondaga 
to a full stop. He well knew the death halloo of the 
Herons. He leaned upon his massive bow, to bend 
it and adjust the string, but ere the sturdy warrior 
had accomplished the work, the loud twang of the 
Cajaigas' bow-strings resounded through the woods, 
their flinty missiles pierced the heart of the Onon- 
daga, and he fell a victim to their vengeance. The 
daring Cayugas returned unmolested and in triumph 
to their homes, glorying in their success, exulting in 
the death of the murderer of their brotlier clansman, 
and happy in the reflection that the death of an Eagle 
lessened the number and the power of their avowed 
enemies. 

It now became the turn of the Onondagas to seek re- 
dress and vengeance for the wrong. The Eagles forth- 
with summoned their bravest men. Measures were ta- 
ken to avenge the murder of a brother, to retrieve their 
sullied honor, and to sustain their nation's fame. For a 
period of more than five years, a deadly feud, amount- 
ing almost to extermination, was nourished with the 
most bitter animosity, and kept in agitation by con- 
stant criminations and recriminations, attacks and 
retaliations, which succeeded each other rapidly, and 
were marked with relentless cruelty. The Heron 
clan of the Cayugas, and the Eagle clan of the On- 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 155 

ondagas, were the only participators in the angiy 
strife. J^one interfered — it was a matter strictly be- 
tween themselves. The nations of the respective 
clans had no desire or intention to intermeddle. The 
counselors of each, thought the aff'air would ter- 
minate without their interference, and without being 
indefinitely prolonged. But as time advanced, the 
hatred and thirst for vengeance increased, and it 
seemed that nothing short of the total extermination 
of the clans would end the mortal strife. To such a 
height had the murderous warfare been carried, and 
so fatal had been the consequences, that the wisest 
men of both nations despaired of effecting a recon- 
ciliation of the rapidly accumulating difficulties. 

The last victim who fell in this bitter feud, and the 
one whose death aroused the nations to energetic ac- 
tion in this perilous affair, was a youthful chieftain, 
called Handsome Harry by the whites, and by the 
Indians, '^Sah-dn-ga-has^^'' or '^The Tall Fine of the 
Mountain.^^ For a long time, he had been the idol 
of the Onondagas, on account of his tall, erect figure, 
his gigantic prowess in war, his sagacity and endu- 
rance in the chase, and his superiority in every ath- 
letic sport. He had long been a terror and a scourge 
to the Cayugas. He had watched, with untiring 
vigilance, the sworn enemies of his clan, and as occa- 
sion offered, his hatchet had dealt death and destruc- 
tion wherever it was wielded. ]^o interval was long 
enough to cool his ardor, or that of liis clansmen ; or 
distance too great to be traversed by the Onondaga 



156 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

warriors in pursuit of tlieir foes, wlien there was tlie 
faintest prospect of success. If a party of Gajuga 
warriors were abroad in pursuit of game, or reveling 
at liome in the wild sports and pastimes of their peo- 
ple, the wily Onondagas, with Handsome Harry at 
their head, were sure to be upon their trail. Whether 
followed for a day, for a week, or for months, their 
patience never tired ; and if the chase led them for a 
few leagues, or far away over the boundless prairies 
of the west, to them fatigue was a stranger, and re- 
pose a luxury unindulged. The grand object was the 
death of the foemau, and pursuit only ceased with its 
accomplishment. One after another of the brave 
Cayugas was cut oif by the merciless hatchet, the 
murderous knife, or the swift arrow of the Eagles. 
Still, there were left resolute spirits of the Herons, 
ready to avenge the blood of their clansmen, and who 
felt impelled in duty and in honor to do so. Thus, 
from month to month and year to year, the sangui- 
nary strife was prolonged, and the fell spirit of re- 
venge nourished and cultivated. 

The whole bent of the rage of the haughty Herons 
was finally settled upon Handsome Harry, and it was 
decreed by them that they would exert their utmost 
efforts to accomplish the death of one who, more than 
all others, had shown himself conspicuous in the war- 
fare of the clans. A party of six Cayugas vowed to 
avenge the death of their brethren, and they sealed 
it with an oath to the Great Spirit, that no other oc- 
cupation should employ them, or arrest their atteii- 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 157 

tion, till Haudsome Ilariy should be slain. This war 
party, with full purpose of heart, set out in quest of 
their victim, with a settled determination to take 
neither rest, relaxation, nor more than ordinary re- 
freshment, till the shrill war-cvy of the Herons should 
warn their detested enemy of his approaching end. 
True to their vow, resolute in purpose, thirsting for 
blood, and burning with revenge, they stealthily 
watched every avenue that led from the Onondaga 
valley, and whenever the track of a hunter led from 
the village, it was examined with the closest scrutiny, 
and eyed with all the keenness of native sagacity. 
The track of Sali-da-ga-lias had been measured with 
the utmost accuracy ; every line was perfectly known, 
so that it could be readily distinguished from all others, 
whether stamped in the miry clay, impressed in the 
drifting sand, or indented in the leafy wilderness. 

On a certain time, while his enemies were observing 
his movements. Handsome Harry left his home in 
company with two sisters to whom he was devotedly 
attached, and by whom he was tenderly beloved, 
with the intention of visiting some friends and rela- 
tives among the Tuscaroras. The ever vigilant Cay- 
ugas were on the lookout, and knew well the time 
of his departure and the place of his destination. 
The Cayuga braves hung upon his path, but kept se- 
creted, so that their presence and intentions were un- 
known. Handsome Harry and his sisters spent a 
season of pleasant indulgence among their Tuscarora 
friends, happily and innocently engaged in, and par- 



X58 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

taking of, all the sj^orts, amusements, and hospitali- 
ties peculiar to the red race. And when the feats of 
the chase, the anxieties of the ball play, and the ex- 
citement of the foot race and quoit pitching had sub- 
sided, the gay party started for their homes, escorted 
part way on their road by numerous friends, in all 
the hilarity of aboriginal simplicity and joy. The 
games, plays, and gambols so richly enjoyed during 
their short sojourn at the Tuscarora village, were 
again and again recapitulated. Joy gladdened their 
hearts, and every step was made cheerful by the 
pleasant recollections of the past. They traveled on 
thus joyously, in all the carelessness of those who did 
not suspect danger, until within a few miles of their 
home, when at a sandy place in their path. Handsome 
Harry discovered the broad foot-print of a Heron of 
the Cayugas, full across his way; then another, and 
again another, and another, as if imprinted by design. 
He well knew that his enemies were on his track, 
and were hovering around him like a pack of hungry 
wolves, snuffing their sure prey in the distance. He 
knew that they were at least four in number, from 
the well known foot-marks across his pathway. From 
the moment the tracks were discovered, the chief en- 
tertained a presentiment that his end was approach- 
ing, and forthwith he resolved that, let death present 
itself in whatever form it might, he would meet the 
dread summons with heroic fortitude, and submit 
manfully, like a true brave of the Onondagas, to his 
fate. Filled witli the most doleful apprehensions, a 



TEE DEADLY FEUD. 159 

settled melanclioly pervaded his demeanor, and he 
moved on in silence, without naming to his compan- 
ions the cause of his depression, while they continued 
in ignorance of the reason of his dejection and his fore- 
bodings of prospective evil. The chief wished not 
that his dearly beloved sisters should see him perish, 
or witness his fall by the ruthless hand of his detested 
enemies. He therefore, on some simple pretext, sent 
them forward on tlieir homeward way, upon which 
they proceeded without suspicion of harm. On their 
departure, the chief smilingly bade them farewell, 
with the most affectionate regard, and dismissed them 
with fondness and fervor. His adieus were received 
with playful pleasantry, and although spoken with 
seriousness and emphasis, and with an air of digni- 
fied solemnity, still there was nothing certain to indi- 
cate the sad event which immediately succeeded. 
Farewells were exchanged, with a prospect, at least 
on their part, of a speedy reiinion and the enjoyment 
of many happy days together. Yet there was in the 
countenance of the chief that which showed plainly 
enough that in the workings of his mind were con- 
cealed some unaccountable forebodings — the devel- 
opment of some incomprehensible catastrophe. At 
the approach of the inevitable crisis which awaited 
him, and which he was fully convinced would very 
soon be past, the chief desired not to be interrupted or 
moved by tlie sighs or the sobs and moans of women, 
especially those so near of kin as those whose depar- 
ture has just been named. Being left alone in the 



160 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

solitude of a gloomy forest, with no eye upon him but 
that of the Great Good Spirit, he hastened to prepare 
himself for the dread prediction which he was certain 
would be soon fulfilled upon him, and which he had 
neither desire nor inclination to evade. He kneeled 
upon the sacred earth from which he sprung, and 
poured out his soul in devout thanksgiving to the 
GreairMaster-of-Breath^ desiring Him to take him to 
his happy realms forever. 

While the chief was in the attitude of devotion, the 
Herons showed themselves in the distance. Upon 
discovering their enemy, they raised the shrill war- 
whoop and advanced. From the posture in which 
they found their mortal enemy, they well knew he 
would offer no resistance, but agreeably to the laws 
of the savage, he would submit with fortitude to his 
fate, and was only making preparation to do so with 
manly grace. The Cayugas came forward and greeted 
Handsome Harry in apparently the most friendly 
manner. After familiar salutations were inter- 
changed, the chief spokesman of the Herons enumer- 
ated the many aggressions so frequently committed 
by Handsome Harry and his clan, and added : 

" Know this, that during the long and bitter feud 
which has existed between the Herons of Cayuga and 
the Eagles of Onondaga, many valuable lives have 
been sacrificed. Revenge has been sought by both, 
and obtained. The blood of the Eagles and that of 
the Herons has flowed freely. The thirsty earth, 
which has so often drank the crimson stream, still 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 161 

opens her mouth. She is not full. Her fair bosom, 
80 often made red with the common tide of the life- 
blood of the Herons and the Eagles, still claims an- 
other victim, and her claim shall be satisfied. You 
know that the cause of this long and angry contention 
was the killing of a deer. The blood of a Cayuga 
was shed for the alleged outrage, and in turn his 
blood was avenged. The war of the clans had been 
continued with unexampled malevolence and fury. 
The last one sacrificed was a Cayuga, at your hand. 
Numbers of our brave men have been slain. Your 
hand has been busy in the work of death. The 
Herons have been thinned, and though vengeance 
has been meted to their assassins, you are the last of 
the Eagles who is deemed guilty. You merit death 
at our hands. Your fate is sealed. Before the de- 
clining sun sinks below the western hills, your soul 
will be in keeping of the Great Spirit, who will re- 
ward you as you deserve. Our words are few. We 
have done." 

The Onondaga chief replied : 

" What you have said is true. The troubles of our 
people have been many. The affair terminating so 
seriously, originated in a very simple quarrel. Blood 
enough has been spilled to satisfy the vengeance of 
all. I yield myself a willing victim to appease the 
injured and angry Herons. I have killed many. 
My revenge is complete. I am satisfied to the full. 
I am ready to sacrifice myself for the peace of the 
nations, and my sincere hope is, that no friend of 



162 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

mine will rise up to avenge my death. Let peace 
ensue. Let tlie nations be at rest. Tell tlie people 
to heal this foolish quarrel. I am ready for death. 
I have done." 

As the Onondaga closed his speech, he raised his 
gigantic form to its utmost height ; he bared his 
broad bosom, and exposed his manly chest. He 
stretched forth his arms, at the same time telling his 
murderers to execute their work. Instantly, as if all 
things had been previously arranged, three bows of 
the sturdy foemen were strained ; the feathered shafts 
were adroitly fixed, and at a word, the flinty heads 
were in contact with the arching bows. The fatal 
missiles were let fly ; the heart of the Eagle was 
pierced, and he fell without a groan. The last feeble 
pulses of the Onondaga beat faintly as he lay exten- 
ded on the earth, while her open mouth drank the 
ebbing tide as it rushed from his manly bosom. The 
Herons advanced and satisfied themselves that he 
was no more. They chanted the death-song around 
his bleeding corpse, and with an air of ecstasy and 
delight returned triumphant to their homes. The 
mutilated remains of the chief were left exposed by 
them to the ferocity of wild beasts and the mercy of 
the elements. 

As soon as intelligence of the massacre of Hand- 
some Harry was communicated to his sisters, they 
yielded themselves to the most poignant sorrow. 
They were his nearest kin, in fact his only near rela- 
tives who had escaped the fatality of the dreadful 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 163 

feud. They mourned in the deepest anguish of 
heart, and gave vent to their woes in sighs and in 
tears. In all the agony of total bereavement they 
exclaimed — " TKa tall Pine of the Mouiitain is laid 
low. His prostrate form will rise no more to greet 
us. ISTo more will he smile with joy at our coming, 
or frown at the ai)proach of the rnde hunter of the 
Cayugas. His voice is hushed forever. No more 
can it resound in the shrill war-whoop. No more can 
it enliven the mellow strains of song. No more 
will he whisper love in our ears, or with sweet words 
beguile the maidens of our valley. No more with 
his piercing yell, will he frighten the shivering 
Heron in his cabin, or the wild beast in his lair. He 
sleeps the endless sleep of death." 

With a devotion far more rational than that which 
is usually allowed to savages, the bereaved maidens 
repaired to the place of the fatal tragedy, and there, 
over the disfigured remains of the chief, gave vent 
afresh to their sorrow, and bewailed their sad loss in 
all the bitterness of untutored woe. They gathered 
the withered leaves, which were scattered around in 
profusion, and strewed them reverently over the last 
sad relic of a beloved brother. Every morning sun 
found the fond sisters at the little mound, raised with 
so much care by their own hands, trimming the new- 
made grave, and the setting sun witnessed the per- 
formance of the same sad office. For nearly a year, 
these devoted women twice daily made their visits to 
the spot, hallowed to them by being the depository 



164 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

of the remains of their brother. The ready tear of 
sisterly affection burst forth daily, and moistened the 
earth that lay lightly on his bosom, while with meas- 
ured cadence, they gravely chanted the national 
death-song to his memory. From the regard they 
paid to his remains, they received the appellation of 
the " loving sisters,^^ and when death gently released 
them from their sorrows and their mourning, they 
were buried by the side of him whose memory ever 
lived in their affections. 

"When the news of the sad catastrophe had been 
conveyed to the Onondaga Castle, every one was as- 
tonished. The nation was instantly aroused to a state 
of unexampled excitement. Numbers of the most 
enthusiastic braves vowed vengeance on the murder- 
ers. A hundred hatchets leaped from the warriors' 
belts and gleamed in the sunbeams, wielded by arms 
nerved for fight. As many knives flashed their pol- 
ished blades in the mellow light, held by hands strong 
to strike, sustained by hearts eager for the conflict. 
The sages of the nation — the " Anciens " of the raco 
— saw the gathering storm, and interposed to avert 
the threatening danger. A council of the people was 
convened ; a rehearsal of all the circumstances con- 
nected with the feud of the clans was had ; the first 
murder of the Heron was recapitulated, and all the 
causes of controversy thoroughly investigated. Every 
death which had followed in consequence was named. 
It was acknowledged that the Eagles of Onondaga 
had suffered almost to extermination. It was be- 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 165 

lieved that the irerons of Cayuga were nearly annihi- 
lated. The first slain was a Heron, the last an Eagle. 
The account was nearly balanced. Blood enough had 
been shed. " Here," said some of the gravest men 
of the council, " the matter should end. It is best to 
follow the advice of our late friend and counselor, 
Sah-da-ga-has^ who with his last breath advised a re- 
conciliation. His words are good." This advice was 
followed. A delegation of Onondagas, with rich 
presents for the Cayugas, was sent to appease the 
wrath of the Herons, and to prepare the way for ne- 
gotiation and a final adjustment of difficulties. The 
ambassadors for peace were formally and favorably 
received. . ISTegotiations were opened, and finally all 
matters of difference were amicably settled. The 
timely presents of the Onondagas pacified the unruly 
passions of the Cayugas, and stanched the bleeding 
wounds of the Herons, who in turn ratified the treaty 
of peace and friendship by the bestowment of presents 
still more magnificent. The deadly feud, which had 
so long been cherished with so much hatred and 
malignity, and had carried death and destruction 
along with so devastating a hand, was now at an end. 
The Eagle and the Heron could now breathe the 
same air, roam the same forest, tread the same war- 
path, and smoke together the calumet of peace. 

For many a returning year, the little mound indi- 
cating the grave of Sah-da-garhas was replenished 
with earth by the hands of his clansmen. The Ea- 
gles took pride in honoring his remains and in paying 



166 THE DEADLY FEUD. 

constant tribute to his inemory. As often as the red 
hunter returned from the chase, or the warrior from 
the battle-field, they would point with a sigh to the 
grave of their chief, and in sorrow mourn his un- 
timely fate. 

Then the country was a waste — a wilderness, with 
here and there an open space, with the bright, glassy 
lake of the Onondaga valley in view, with enticing, 
sunny slopes of the mountains in the rear, where the 
young leaves of spring glanced in primeval beauty, 
and the blithe forest birds hymned a requiem to the 
manes of the brave. The everlasting hills still show 
their lofty heads undiminished, and the bright blue 
wave still dashes on the marly shore of the lake. But 
the light canoe with its dusky burden has disappeared 
from its bosom. The majestic forests have fallen, and 
the green grass and golden grain wave in their place. 
Another race has supplanted its predecessors. The 
pale face furrows the obliterated path of the red man, 
who feels that his destiny is fulfilled. 

As the gray and wrinkled hunter of a past age and 
generation, returns to visit the home of his fathers, as 
was his wont in former times, he seeks to pay the sad 
tribute of aflfection at the grave of Sah-da-ga-has. 
But in his efforts, he finds himself treading the streets 
/of a crowded city, and amidst the thronged thorough- 
fares, where the great human tide rolls fullest, with 
all his native scrutiny and sagacity, he fails to iden- 
tify the precise spot, yet he is certain it is somewhere 
in the immediate vicinity, if not in the very midst. 



THE DEADLY FEUD. 167 

As his active mind broods over the unaccountable 
changes which, within his recollection, have taken 
place, and his thoughts revert with sadness to the 
olden time, he reasons of the future from what he has 
experienced of the past, and says : 

" A few short years, and the last of all our race 
will be as things that were, all swallowed up, or driven 
off to wilds of the far west, broken in spirit, destitute 
of hope ; victims of the cold white man's avarice — 
dead every spark of human sympathy — despised — 
forgot. Death comes at last and ends the tale of 
fate. Our glorious deeds are chronicled on high, be- 
yond the white man's malice, hate, or rage. Thither, 
at the Great Good Spirit's call we go. None live to 
mourn our strange, unhappy fate. 'No trace is left 
of all our ancient deeds. No monument will tell that 
here a race of bold red men once existed, and held 
the sole sway of empire." 



|i0iiur falts* 



LE CHASSEUR. 

" I -went to see him, and my heart was touch'd 

With rev'rence and pity. Mild he spake, 

And entering on discourse, such stones told 

As made me oft revisit his sad cell, 

For he had been a soldier in his youth. 

Pleased with my admiration, and the fire 

His speech struck from me, the old man would shake 

His years away, and act his young encounters; 

Then, having shown his wounds, he'd sit him down 

And all the live long day discourse." 

Home's Douglas. 

Le Chasseur. — Undoubtedly this eccentric charac- 
ter had some other name by which he was known in 
his fatherland ; but if it was ever spoken here, it ia 
so long since, that everybody must have forgotten it; 
for he, poor soul, has long since joined 

"The innumerable caravan that moves 
To that mysterious realm, Avhere each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death." 

Of the many singular personages who have been 
known to the early settlers of this part of the coun 
try, we know of none more peculiar in his habits, and 
H 



170 LE CnAS3EUE. 

remember none with more pleasure, than the man 
known familiarly hj the sohiquet of Ze Chasseur. 
Often and again in childhood, was it our pleasant lot 
to meet his merry look and 

" Mark the fleers, tlie gibes and the notable scorns 
Tliat dwelt in every region of his face," 

when it was lighted np with life and action ever and 
anon, as was his wont. He w^as of French extraction 
everybody knew; but whether born in Quebec or 
Quiberon, in Montreal, or Montagris, no one knew, 
and none, perhaps, cared. In stature he was neither 
short nor tall, rather stout built, with a well knit 
frame, muscular limbs, and a constitution capable of 
great endurance. He was, perhaps, at the time we 
knew him, (forty-five years ago,) about sixty-five years 
of age. Pie knew well the medicinal properties of 
every bark, berry, root, plant, shrub or tree of the 
fields or forests. He knew all the natural antidotes 
for the bites of jDoisonous reptiles, and rabid animals. 
He could call all the stars by their right names, par- 
tition every constellation with the accuracy of one 
of the ancient magi, and point out the residence of 
every heathen deity with the precision of an accom- 
plished mythologist. He could render a reason for 
all the phenomena of nature in the language of 
learned philosophy, and discourse upon state affairs 
with the sagacity and acumen of an accomplished 
diplom^ate. He was rather graceful in his manners, 
and under a somewhat rou^h exterior, was hidden a 



LE CIIASSEUK. 171 

heart "open as clay to melting charity." lie pos- 
sessed a vigorous miiul, stored with a full share of 
common sense, always tempered with good humor ; 
was possessed of very agreeable colloquial powers, 
and w^tlial had a strong jpenchant for the marvelous 
in story-telling. lie had evidently seen service in the 
battle-field, for his face and limbs were literally 
seamed with scars. 

On all occasions he maintained that manly bearing, 
erect position, and ingenuous boldness of countenance 
known only to a dignified soldier, long drilled to obe- 
dience, lie was just the character that would rivet 
the attention of the frontier woodmen and forest hunt- 
ers, and compel them by some irresistible charm to 
listen to a recital of his tales, and from wdioni the more 
refined and accomplished citizen would find it difii- 
cult to break away. lie had for many years pursued 
the business of collecting furs among the Indians, and 
some of his most glorious feasts were of moose-snouts 
and beaver-tail, deer haunch and bear fat. Every- 
body knew Ze Chasseur^ for he was in all respects one 
of those real, indispensable characters, always to be 
found on the undefinable borders of savage and civil- 
ized society — everybody's friend, a friend to every- 
body, but, of little note in the world. In short he 
was one of those noble, whole-souled spirits of obscu- 
rity ; a hero of humble life, a generous spirit in pov- 
erty, whose modest deeds never met the light, and 
whose virtues have passed away Avithout a record or 
remembrance. 



172 LE CHASSEUR. 

In early life lie had married, and for several years 
lived most happily with an amiable wife, of whose 
memory he always spoke with the most affectionate 
regard. ' But in the chaneres and vicisitudes of life 
she had been by nngentle hands unkindly cut off, and 
forever shut out from the cares and crosses of the 
world. They then lived in the province of Upper 
Canada, far away from the society of civilized men, 
and in the Indian wars, of which that province be- 
came the sanguinary theatre, his home was made 
more than desolate by ruthless savages. His home 
was destroyed by fire, his only child, a little girl of 
four years of age, was made a prisoner and carried- 
away captive to one of the cantons of the Iroquois, 
and his beloved, amiable and innocent wife was mas- 
sacred by barbarian hands — mutilated, disfigured and 
most brutally exposed to nakedness and decay. At 
the shocking sight, the high-born heart of the hero 
shrunk to nothingness within him. From the thrill- 
ing effects of that fell catastrophe he never fully re- 
covered, and his after life was marked with a degree 
of sadness, really embittered by the irreparable be- 
reavement, and the demoniacal circumstances under 
which it was accomplished. 

After ivivino: the remains of his wife a decent bu- 
rial, he resolved to quit forever a spot which could 
retain nothing but pain and disgust on the darksome 
leaf of memory. Upon hearing tliat his daughter 
had been carried off captive, he resolved, that as he 
could be of no use in comforting the dead, he might 



LE CHASSEUR. 173 

yet seek consolation in tlie hope of recovering his 
darling child, and that his best energies should be 
spent in diligent search. 

He i-esolved, whatever might be the cost, to scour 
the whole country of the Six Xations, and, if possi- 
ble, recover her to his care and consolation. He 
knew that the marauders consisted of Senecas, On- 
ondagas and Mohawks, but to which particular na- 
tion she had been consigned it was not in his power 
to determine. For the purpose of ascertaining this, 
he had faithfully explored the country of the Senecas, 
and had sought with due diligence among the Mo- 
hawks, yet not the slightest trace could he find among 
those people, of his lost child. His only hope now 
was, that she might be somewhere among the Onon- 
dagas. It was this which first brought him to Onon- 
daga, and upon this fraternal errand was he engaged 
at the time of the first settlement of the country by 
the whites. When they came, they found him here 
enjoying, in the most primitive simplicity, the rude 
hospitality of a savage people, with whom, in a degree, 
he was domesticated. Here he was engaged without 
reserve in the exciting occupation of hunter and trap- 
per, enduring w^ith heroic fortitude the perils of a 
wandering life, and pursuing with unflinching ardor 
those doubtful sources of gain. As the families of 
the settlers, one after another, dropped into their 
newly acquired homes, he still remained, and very 
soon after tlieir arrival he became intimately ac- 
quainted with every man, woman and child, and at 



174 LE CUASSEUK. 

once enjoyed tlie distinction of }3eing a universal fa- 
vorite. He always, everywhere received a most cor- 
dial welcome, and was really a very great help to 
those who were strangers in the country. 

There was not a path, or a trail, or a plat of ground, 
or an opening, or a copse, but he was familiar with it 
— and, after the countr^^ had been surveyed, he knew 
the position of every landmark, could describe the 
boundaries of any particular lot, perhaps name the sol- 
dier who served for it, and affix its value to a dime. 
]^ot withstanding his great knowledge of the country, 
he valned not, nor cared for riches. Present wants 
satisfied, lie felt secure in the reflections of an appro- 
ving conscience, and sufficient reward for him, was in 
obliging others. So long had he been deprived of the 
comforts of civilized life, and so long had he con- 
formed to Indian language, customs, employments 
and dress, that he could scarcely be distinguished 
from a native in all those essentials that go to make 
up the outward man. He hung around the outskirts 
of advancing civilization, forever watching its progress 
with anxiety and regret. Often and again, in our 
boyhood, have we listened with the most fixed atten- 
tion and delight, to the recital of his tales and adven- 
tures, and our only regret is, that the long time which 
lias intervened since we saw his honest face, and heard 
his mellow voice, and grasped his callous hand, has 
entirely obliterated many thrilling incidents from our 
mind, and stricken from memoiy's leaf the finest 
touches of his exquisite style of delineation. 



LE CUASSEUK. 175 

It was on a cold December evening, more than 
forty years ago, that we with several juvenile compan- 
ions, made our last visit to the cabin of the veritable 
character, Le Chasseur. On that night, he was more 
than usually thoughtful and abstracted. He paid 
little heed to the jokes of his guests, and wholly de- 
clined the cpick retort and sprightly repartee, so char- 
acteristic of the man. His merry, peculiar laugh, 
had lost its heartiness. E'or was the accustomed 
smile with which on former occasions he so familiarly 
greeted us, seen gayly to play upon his lips. In place 
of these, were the contracted brow, the stifled sigh, 
and starting tear. In this frame of mind, he thus 
began : 

" My young friends, you see before you the wreck 
of a being who was once like you, young, joyful and 
happy ; without guile, without malice. In an unlucky 
hour, I loved, married, and still was happy — happy 
in the blessings of a lovely wife, and she the doating 
mother of my only child. But tlie mother, God bless 
her, was stricken down in her youth and beauty, and 
cruelly murdered by profane and idolatrous hands. 
I alone performed the rites of sepulchre. Peace to 
her sacred dust. My child, my darling child, was 
carried away captive, and for many long, long years 
have I sought her among the wigwams of the red men. 
They know my errand. By their shrewdness and 
circumspection, I am persuaded my child yet lives. 
That is my greatest consolation. I shall yet, ere I die, 
behold the counterpart of the loveliest being that 



176 LE CHASSEUR. 

ever adorned the walks of life." Emotion was visible 
in his features, his voice trembled, the ready tear of 
affection started to his eyes, and he buried his face in 
his hands, lest he should betray a feeling unbecoming 
the dignity of an old soldier. It seemed as if the 
most abject despair had seized his mind, and that the 
mighty throes of death were racking his manly bo- 
som. While he was thus absorbed in melancholy 
reflection, our boyish hearts were melted in the inten- 
sity of glowing affection. Long and silently did we 
mingle our inward griefs and outward sorrows with 
his. 

While we were completely awe-struck by the 
solemnity of the scene, sympathizing with child- 
ish siriiplicity in the agitation of the iron frame 
and aching heart before us, we were suddenly star- 
tled from our reverie. The door was opened, and 
like a phantom from the land of spirits, in glided 
the tall, lithe form of an Indian. Without ceremony 
he drew a seat to the hearth, and in silence looked 
intently upon the expiring embers, as they lay piled 
against the back of the jamless fire-place, and calmly 
brooded over the scene around him. At a glance, 
he seemed to comprehend that he was in the pres- 
ence of distress. By his scrutinizing looks he seemed 
to recognize in the features of Le ChoLsseur^ those 
of an acquaintance. The recognition was mutual ; 
it was a cordial greeting, and the two were soon en- 
gaged in familiar conversation. Le Chasseur opened 
anew the deep fountains of his sorrows, and repeated 



LE CHASSEUR. . 177 

with lively pathos, the story of his trials and bereave- 
ment. The Indian listened with the most fixed at- 
tention without the least emotion until he had finished, 
occasionally throwing out from his capacious mouth, 
in graceful curls, large wreatlis of smoke which he 
watched in their ever varying gyrations with evident 
delight. When the words of Le Chasseur had ceased, 
the silence of eternal night pervaded that room. Not 
a foot or finger moved — not a whisper, not a breath 
was heard. All eyes were intently riveted upon the 
Indian, who regarded not the jDresence of others, nor 
heeded what was passing. He remained immovable 
as a rock, and silent as a statue. It was an instant 
of intense anxiety, for we all expected the red man 
would break the silence. He was evidently arranging 
his thoughts for some mighty effort, but what were 
the workings of his pent-up mind, or what would be 
disclosed, no one could conjecture. At length he laid 
aside his pipe, rose to his feet, and began : 

" Brother, I have listened attentively to your words. 
They have sunk deep into my heart. Once I was 
young, but now I am old. My years are fast fading 
away. My life is rapidly drawing to a close. Once 
like you, I had a wife. She has long since gone to 
the land of spirits. We, too, had an only daughter. 
She was our stay and comfort. The cruel white man 
came stealthily to my lodge. He stole my child from 
my bosom. She died of grief, for she would not con- 
sent to live in the bonds of guiltiness. Her mild spirit 
sweetly reposes in the regions of the Great-Master-of- 
II* 12 



178 . LE CHASSEUE. 

Breath. She is liappj — I am content. For many 
years I have wandered about disconsolate. I have 
sought death upon the war-^^ath. He would not re- 
lieve me. By chance I was one of the party that de- 
stroyed your home. I saw the fierce flame envelop 
it. ■ I saw the swift wind scatter its ashes. I saw the 
bright tomahawk gleam in the fading sunlight as it 
cleft the skull of the wife of your bosom. I saw her 
fair form stiff and cold in death. I rejoiced. On 
that dread night, I found a little child clinging to its 
lifeless mother's breast. I heard its j)iteous cry, and 
raised my hand against it. I could not strike ; the 
crimsoned weapon dropped from my powerless liand. 
My heart relented. Thoughts of my own dear child 
rushed to my bosom. I took her to my arms. I 
adopted her as my own. She was as a daughter to me. 
She grew up in my bosom. She has been the comfort 
of my existence, the solace of my ^^ears. 

" Brother, listen ! Forty winters have shed their 
snows upon the earth since the close of those angry 
wars, which so long employed the French and Eng- 
lish. It was during the last of those bloody struggles 
that you were bereft of your wife and child. 

'' Brother ! I will harass your feelings no further. 
I wish to do you good. Your daughter yet lives." 

Upon this announcement, Le Chasseur, who had 
caught every word with eagerness, fell upon the floor 
as if struck dead. The Indian heeded not, nor moved 
a muscle, but still looked upon the fire with tlie most 
philosophic indifference. The youthful listeners 



LE CHASSEUR. 179 

raised the prostrate man, his temples were bathed in 
cool water, and he soon recovered. After the excite- 
ment had subsided, the Indian resumed. 

"Brother! this seems sorrowiHil to you. On the 
morrow go with me, and I will show you your long 
lost daughter. Be of good cheer. She is sweet as 
the dew-drop upon the mountains ; she is as gentle as 
the sucking fawn ; she is swift as the w^ind that 
sweeps the broad prairie, and wild as the young pi- 
geon of the wood. She is the loveliest flower that 
has ever bloomed in our valley. She is the support 
of my tottering age, and the stay of my weak infir- 
mities. She only knows me as her father. Her heart 
is the seat of buoyant innocence, and every grace that 
can ornament or ennoble the female character, is 
hers." 

By this recital of his daughter's virtues, Le Chas- 
seur was most tenderly affected. He buried his head 
in his hands, and in sighs and sobs gave vent to his 
grief. Here the scene closed upon our view, for the 
juvenile listeners were admonished to retire. What 
passed under that humble roof upon that eventful 
night, we know not. But upon our return on the 
morrow, these aged seniors had departed. 

It was a long time before we again heard from Le 
Chasseur — so long, that we despaired of ever having 
tidings of him again. After a tedious interval, it was 
on a summer evening announced, that an Indian had 
taken lodgings in a neighboring barn. Curiosity led 
us to the spot. Upon opening the door, to our infi- 



180 LE CHASSEUR. 

nite surprise, we noticed the identical old man whom 
years before we had left at the rude cabin of Le Chas- 
seur. Our first promptings of course led us to inquire 
the fiite of one who had so long held a conspicuous 
place in our afi^ections, whose life had been regarded 
as very much at the disposal of his youthful friends ; 
whose varying wishes he would most studiously and 
agreeably condescend to gratify. It was a charming 
night — -the stars shone out with unusual lustre, and 
the gentle breeze of evening cooled and refreshed us 
as we sat. The Indian withdrew to a pile of boards 
near by, struck fire upon his punkwood tinder, lighted 
his pipe, and soon began. 

" On the morning after you left us at the cabin of 
Le Chasseur, with the rising sun, we departed for On- 
ondaga. When within about a mile of the castle, 
we halted near to my cabin at the foot of a vene- 
rable oak. It was a stately tree ; it was near the 
close of the day ; the sun had sunk behind the west- 
ern hills, casting their lengthened shadows over the 
valley, and burnished the trees beyond with a golden 
lustre. At the foot of that old oak he was to wait 
until I should bring forward his daughter. She soon 
came, led by my hand. Till this hour, she was igno- 
rant of her parentage. Me, she had ever been taught 
to call her father. Now, she could not believe to the 
contrary. She reluctantly consented to accompany 
me to the spot. Ze Chasseur saw her as she ap- 
proached. He rose to greet her ; his face was pale 
as aslies ; as he rushed to embrace her he fell, and 



LE CHASSEUK. 181 

exclaimed, ' my daughter ! my daughter ! ' With a 
faltering voice, he added, ' The very image of my 
murdered wife!' He struggled— his piercing eye 
lost its brightness ; his fingers became cold and stiff 
as with an iron gripe they clasped tlie hands of his 
child. He gasped ; he ceased to breathe ; we looked 
on him — he was dead. On the morrow we dug his 
grave, at the foot of the oak where he died. We 
placed his body in a coffin made of barks ; it was bu- 
ried in the evening. The old tree will stand long as 
a guide to the grave of Lc Chasseur. There he 
calmly reposes. No stone marks the spot of his 
grave — only the tree does. 

"His daughter — my daughter, lived on. She was 
loth to believe that a white man was her father, or a 
pale face her mother. But when she reflected that 
her skin was not red, that rich blue veins lined her bo- 
som, that her eyes were not black — when it was told 
her that her mother had been slain, that herself had 
been taken captive, that her true father had sunk to 
rest in the embrace of death, for joy of meeting her 
at last, that his earthly form was withering at the 
root of the old tree — the natural affection of her heart 
burst forth in all its native wildness. She felt the 
crash of desolating misery and the anguish of unut- 
terable woe. Her grief was silent. Hers was that 
earnest sorrow, too deep for soothing in tears. It 
found no vent in weeping. Her heart was agonized 
to the core. Her soul was comfortless. 

" For many a week and month she ceased not daily 



1S2 LE CHASSEUR. 

to visit file old oak tree. With lier hands she de- 
voutly smoothed the turf on Ze Chasseur'' s grave. At 
length a day came. It was a day of tempest. She 
went forth amid falling torrents, terrific lightnings 
and awful thunders. She was seen mournfully all the 
day dressing the resting j^lace of the dead. At eve- 
ning she sat pensively down npon the little mound, 
which during the day had been her care. She sat as 
one bereft of reason. Her face was pale. Her eyes 
had lost their brightness. The deep, dank dews of 
agony had gathered upon her brow. Her features 
seemed convulsed with the dreadful workings of her 
soul. The protecting arms of the ancient oak were 
above her. The storm had subsided ; the bow had 
been set in the cloud ; there was a calm. A solemn 
vow made in this awful solitude was on her lips. The 
fatal doom she had reverently invoked met her here. 
The night passed away ; she returned not. In the 
morning she sat there still ; but her spirit had gone to 
seek that of her earthly j^arent. She was a corpse 
npon the grave of Le Chasseur. She was buried. 
Their kindred dust mingles in the same grave. The 
gentle breeze of snmmer still rustles the green leaves 
of the old oak tree, and the howling blasts of winter 
sweep fitfully through its bare branches. But the 
deep sleepers heed not the wild reqniem of unruly 
elements. They rest in peace." 

The old man carelessly knocked the ashes from his 
pipe and was silent. "We gazed npon him with mute 
admiration and wondering astonishment. We knew 



LE CHASSEUR. 1^3 

liim to be one of the chiefs of his people. For n^;iny 
years afterwards we carefully watched the distin- 
guished career of this ancient man. We have often 
admired his noble deeds. lie lived on, till those of 
his generation had all passed away. An hundred 
years were his. His final exit was made without pre- 
monition. He died as suddenly as those of whom he 
spake. lie expired by the roadside while on official 
business of his nation, at Oneida, in 1838. The hon- 
ored dust of the war-worn Brave reposes there now. 
There have we seen the moss-covered grave of the 
chief. His name ? — it was Oundiaga. 



THE ISLAND HOME. 

" Light the nuptial torch, 
And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits 
The youth and maiden. Happy days to them 
That wed this evening ! — a long life of love, 
And blooming sons and daughters ! Happy they 
Born at this hour — for the}' shall see an age 
Whiter and holier than the past, and go 
Late to their graves." 

Bryant's Jupiter and Venus 

During the great revolution wliich placed ISTapo- 
leon at the head of the national affairs of France, 
there appeared a conspicuous character who for many 
years had been an adherent to the Koyalist party. 
As the prospects of the citizen-general brightened, 
and there was no longer doubt that the hero of the 
day of the sections, the 13th Yendemiaire-i w^ould gain 
the ascendency and retain it, this personage, and 
many others of his countrymen, joined their fortunes 
with his. Mons. Buchez was of noble lineage, de- 
rived from one of the oldest and most influential fam- 
ilies of the ancient noblesse. During the early part of 
the revolution he was of the political party denomina- 
ted Girondist, and was a member of the Legislative 
Assembly from the department La Gironde. He was 
contemporar}^ with Gaudet, Gensonne, Yergniaud, 
and others, chief leaders of that party. Upon the 



THE ISLAND HOME. 1S5 

breaking up of the Girondists, and the final triumph 
of the Jacobins in 1793, Mons. Buchez, after a few 
months of conceahnent, and after the Jacobin influ- 
ence became paralyzed, retired to his chateau upon 
the Garonne, not far from the city of Bordeaux. 
Here, in the bosona of his family, in humble retire- 
ment, free from the turmoil of changing times and 
busy strife, he resolved to spend the residue of his 
days. But his destiny was not thus quietly to be 
fulfilled. A person of distinction in those stirring 
times was sure to be called upon to declare himself 
upon one side or another. There was no middle way 
— " somewhere or nowhere" was the watchword, and 
woe betide the man who occupied a neutral position, 
or aspired to unite himself amicably with all. If he 
did so, he soon became the reputed enemy of all fac- 
tions, all parties, and all men. 

Charmed with the glorious victories of the hero of 
Italy and Austria, Mons. Buchez obtained a commis- 
sion in the army of the republic, and with a regiment 
of conscripts joined the standard of his general. Of 
course, the family of Mons. Buchez were left without 
the superintending care of a kind husband and indul- 
gent father, leaving the honors and hospitalities of 
his mansion to he dispensed by his agreeable and ac- 
complished lady. 

Madame Buchez was social, lively, and gay, and 
by her fascinating and bland manners won many ad- 
mirers, and secured a multitude of friends. Her 
house was the seat of hospitality, and none who had 



186 THE ISLAND HOME. 

ever experienced the mnnificence of lier favors but 
gladly embraced the opportunity to renew that sweet 
pleasure again. The most polite, polished and re- 
lined society frequented her sjDlendid salon de com- 
pagnie, and in no case was any person of deserving 
merit or modest worth excluded from her brilliant 
soirees. The society of men of taste and genius was 
courted, and those of sterling worth were always 
made at home in the ordinary round of harmless dis- 
sipation. If wealth and worth were not combined in 
the most extensive sense, if the latter was predomi- 
nant, a cheering welcome was universally extended. 

Amongst others, the accomplished Madame Ro- 
land, the talented and conspicuous promoter of the 
Girondists, was a frequent visitor at the gay chateau 
on the Garonne. But the factious- times, and the su- 
premacy of the Jacobins, soon deprived the inmates 
of Madame Eoland's society, for in 1793,- she was con- 
signed to the gloomy cells of the Conciergerie^ and 
finally expiated her political offences under the mur- 
derous axe of the guillotine. 

The ardent Charlotte Corday, the subsequent de- 
stroyer of the tyrant Marat, had been a frequent vis- 
itor at the chateau, and enjoyed in a high degree the 
confidence of those political aspirants and followers 
of Rosseau, Raynal, Corneille, and others, the found- 
ers of that school of French democracy, which had 
dethroned a monarch, subverted a kingdom, and con- 
signed the chief actors in the bloody tragedy to the 
scafibld. 



THE ISLAND HOME. 187 

But she, too, was too pure a, republican to live, and 
like thousands of lier political creed under the more 
modern regime of Marat, Danton, and Eobespierre, 
was obliged to yield her life upon the block almost 
daily crimsoned by the blood of martyrs to the cause 
of liberty, at the Place de Greve, 

Amidst the gayety and splendor of fashion, and all 
the luxuriance and magnificence of wealth and re- 
finement, so happily displayed at the residence of 
Madame Buchez, there was one other character, 
whose juvenile years had hitherto prevented her from 
mingling much in the busy crowd. 

Marie, though young, was endowed with the most 
fascinating personal charms. Her laughing blue eye 
was full of intelligent expression, her countenance 
beamed with light and joyonsness ; dark and waving 
curls hung loosely over her ample brows, while her 
expansive forehead portrayed the capacity of her in- 
tellectual and cultivated mind, and a slight curl of 
her ruby lip showed plainly she was not devoid of 
stately pride and an uncompromising decision. Ma- 
rie had received a fashionable education under the 
tuition of the most accomplished masters, and from 
her elevated position, vivacity, good sense, and bril- 
liant wut, was qualified to shine in the most exalted 
circles. Although modest and retiring in her de- 
meanor, she nevertheless mingled with the multiiude, 
and became a graceful partner in all the gay pastimes 
and amusements in which her countrywomen so 
greatly excel. 



188 THE ISLAND HOME. 

Henri de Yitzy was an occasional visitor at the 
hospitable mansion of Madame Bucliez. He was 
youthful in appearance, and had jnst made his debut 
on the grand theatre of life. With the advantage of 
an excellent education, just finished at a German uni- 
versity, with a highly cultivated taste for the fine arts, 
particularly music and drawing, and with a mind 
richly stored with the treasures of a continental tour, 
he had returned to the sunny south, with the inten- 
tion of spending the residue of his days in the com- 
mercial city of Bordeaux. He had his fortune to 
carve by his own skill and ingenuity, and the super- 
structure of his fame was to be erected on the founda- 
tion already laid, from materials already provided. 

As the world terms it, Henri was popr in worldly 
goods ; he was not richly endowed ; but his heart was 
honest, his reputation unsullied, and with a high 
sense of honor and self-respect, he had firmly resolved 
to brave the cold austerities of fortune, and by his 
own well-tried exertions, place himself among the 
noblest of the noble, and the richest of the rich. 

Such was the graceful and talented Henri de Yitzy 
at the time he was first introduced to the inmates and 
society at the chateau of Mons. Buchez. l^ot choos- 
ing to mingle unreservedly in the giddy maze of 
fashion, but preferring to cultivate acquaintances of 
a purely intellectual character, he was rarely found 
among the gayest of the gay, but more frequently 
spent his leisure hours with the gravest of the grave. 
Madame Buchez was particularly attentive to her 



THE ISLAND HOME. 189 

youtliful guest, till she herself became deeply im- 
pressed with the worth and highly cultivated facul- 
ties of Henri de Yitzy. 

Madame Buchez was often heard to praise her 
gifted friend, and although her encomiums w^ere little 
heeded by many, yet there was one, whose ear caught 
the flattering sound with peculiar pleasure, and often 
at the mention of his name, she involuntarily breathed 
a sigh, and in modest silence, wondered why the 
simple sound should produce so sensible an emotion. 

Frequent opportunities presented themselves for 
the youthful couple to enjoy the society of each other. 
Time moved on, and the parterre, the lawn and park, 
were often made more graceful and gay by the pres- 
ence of the youthful pair. They seemed to enjoy 
only the society of themselves. In feelings, tastes, 
inclinations, and associations they were very nearly 
assimilated, and to each other they were quite in- 
dispensable. 

In truth, as the world terms it, they were in love. 
They loved not, however, with that romantic fervency 
of which we so often hear, yet never behold existing, 
but with that steady increasing fondness, that unsul- 
lied purity, that right onward course, which no change 
of fortune can vary or decrease, no variableness of 
circumstances can alter or diminish. Yows of fidel- 
ity and constancy were interchanged ; their sacred 
troth was plighted, and nothing but the consent of 
parents was wanting to make their joy complete. 
Overtures were made to the mother of the bright-eyed 



190 THE ISLAND HOiME. 

Marie, who, Avitli surprise at what she termed his au- 
dacity in contemning the restraints of propriety and 
decorum, gave an imperious denial to tlieir united 
recpest, charging the ardent Henri with a breach of 
confidence and good faith in taking advantage of her 
patronage, favor and hospitality, to captivate the heart 
of her. daughter. She uncompromisingly forbade the 
attention of tlie devoted Henri. 'Not satisfied witli 
this alone, she communicated the facts by post to Col. • 
Buchez, who being influenced in a measure by his 
wife, wrote to his beloved daughter an affectionate 
letter, beseeching her to pause before taking any de- 
cisive step, and w^ait his further pleasure, giving her 
to understand that his consent might be refused. As 
soon as circumstances would allow. Colonel Buchez 
obtained a furlous^h and returned to his home. A 
full investigation of affairs produced a decided con- 
viction in his mind that the union of Henri De Yitzy 
and Marie was on no account admissible. The objec- 
tions interposed were, that she was of noble blood, 
was heir in her own right to a large fortune, that her 
prospects were favorable for a union more in accord- 
ance with her rank and station — with some one of tlie 
noblesse of her countrj^ On the contrary, Henri was 
poor and friendless — no titled star graced liis bosom ; 
no princely coronet ornamented his brow ; no family 
escutcheon, graved with armorial bearings, indicative 
of an ancient and distinguished ancestry and lineage, 
was liis. He had neither estates in expectancy, nor 
titles in abeyance ; it was his misfortune simply to 



THE ISLAND IIOIME. 191 

have centered his affections npon one far above him- 
self in what tlie aristocratic portion of the world, 
pleases to denominate rank. Yet it was the joy of 
his heart that his pure and generous sentiments Avere 
reciprocated. True to the imperative injunctions of 
the haughty Colonel Buchez and his consort, Henri 
left the province of Gironde, determined to bury him- 
self in the turmoil of business, and forever banish 
from his heart the object of his love. But his mind 
was so intensely engaged — his whole soul so com- 
pletely absorbed in this strong, ennobling sentiment, 
that for an instant his thoughts could not be diverted 
from the remembrance of his dear Marie — there could 
be no worthy abiding place but with her. He was 
completely incapacitated for all ordinary pursuits ; he 
felt himself rashly tossed about up>on the rude, rough 
sea of fortune, unkindly cut loose from his gentle 
moorings, without even an anchor of hope to cast as 
a stay from the threatened ruin. lie became a prey 
to his own romantic passion, as well as the sport of the 
idle, the vicious and the gay. As often as his mind 
reverted to the beautiful chateau on the banks of the 
Garonne, and the invaluable treasure it contained, he 
felt impelled to return, regardless of consequences, 
and once again pay his devoirs at the shrine of his 
idolatry. At length his resolution became fixed, and 
at once he was found on his way towards the mansion 
of Mons. Buchez. Loth to do a dishonorable act, or 
to intrude upon the rights of others, to transgress the 
rules of propriety, or transcend the commands of his 



192 THE ISLAND HOME. 

former host and hostess, he lingered in sadness around 
.the noble chateau, happy that he could gaze upon the 
massive walls which contained the precious prize, and 
tread unknown the broad grounds which surrounded 
the palace. The air yielded the freshest, sweetest 
fragrance, and it afforded him the most exquisite sat- 
isfaction, when he reflected that it was inhaled by 
himself in common with her he loved. 

For a while, these reflections lulled his extreme 
anxiety, but it brought no rest to his hankering soul. 
His longings were not satisfied, and he faltered in de- 
termining the course he should pursue. At first, he 
resolved he would boldly renew his suit to the mother 
and her daughter. Again he thought he would seek 
a private interview with her he held most dear. He 
finally resolved to address a letter to Mons. Buchez, 
soliciting him to change his resolution, and restore 
himself to the confidence of his family. In the mean 
time, he forwarded a polite note to Madame Buchez, 
asking liberty to again visit his own dear Marie. To 
his earnest importunities, both parents were inexora- 
ble. In epithets not the most pleasing to the wishes 
of Henri, Mons. Buchez forbade the unfortunate 
youth from presuming to intrude upon the rights and 
hospitalities of his house. Madame was equally de- 
cided in her denial. Having entirely failed in over- 
tures to the parents, and having no hope of efiecting 
a reconciliation with them, the devoted Henri felt 
warranted in promoting his own happiness and the 



THE ISLAND HOME. 193 

happiness of another, by the most eifectual means in 
his power. 

In the ardency of his attacliment, Henri sought and 
obtained an interview with the gentle Marie. The 
meeting of the long-separated lovers was touching 
and sublime. In true faith, they renewed their vows 
of attachment and fidelity, and in the presence of 
their Maker, .promised eternal constancy. It was a 
long time before Henri could summon resolution 
enough to propose to the weeping Marie a plan 
whereby they might be united, in spite of the objec- 
tions raised by her parents. Well he knew the pangs 
it would cost the tender-hearted girl to be separated 
forever from parents and friends, and well he knew 
her willingness at all times to implicitly obey the 
commands of her parents, as well as to anticipate 
their wishes by a thousand little kindnesses. 

At times, he doubted whether the love Marie had 
for him, would overbalance her parental affections, 
her regard for dear friends, and the pleasures of 
home. These, indeed, were strong inducements for 
a tender girl, reared in luxury and affluence, caressed 
by friends, and gratified in every wish by the most 
indulgent parents, to reject any proffers he might 
make. lie scarcely dared projDOse to her the con- 
summation of their bliss other than by consent of 
parents. Well he knew the danger it would incur, 
and the tender ties his loved one must sever to ac- 
complish so desirable an object ; and he was, also, 
well aware that delay only strengthened their preju- 
I 13 



194 THE ISLAND HOME. 

dices, and increased the circumspection of Mons. and 
Madame Buchez. 

As there seemed to be not the remotest prospect 
of the parents of Marie ever consenting to their union, 
the unwilling Henri, as a last resort, proposed an 
elopement. Although the pure heart of Marie was 
chained to that of her lover, this was a step which 
her duty to her parents forbade her rashly to take. 
It was a thought she could not suddenly entertain. 

" Where," thought she, " in the wide world shall 
we hide from an enraged father and sorrowful mother, 
whose hearts will overflow with grief at the loss of 
an unworthy daughter ? And whither shall we flee 
an angry father's vengeance ? — and oh, the final sep- 
aration from a doting mother. Shall the fond, paren- 
tal tie be broken ? Can one guilty of disobedience 
rest in cpiet while a mother's tears are flowing for 
her child's cruelty, and a father's anger burns for his 
daughter's rashness ? Can I thus make the paternal 
fireside desolate, and my now happy home miserable ? " 

These were subjects which agitated the mind of the 
kind-hearted, half-yielding Marie. But on the other 
hand, there was the noble, her beloved Henri — the idol 
of her heart. He whom she loved more than all the 
world besides. He to whom her sacred troth had 
been plighted. He on whose bosom she had so often 
leaned with delight. He who was ready to sacrifice 
all he held dear to promote her happiness. AVithout 
him the world was a blank ; her soul was knit with 
his, and she could not reject him. Notwithstanding 



THE ISLAND HOME. 195 

the many struggles she encountered, she reluctantly 
consented to relinquish her friends, abandon her 
home, and bid adieu forever to her family, and the 
sweet fields of France. 

Arrangements were speedily made with all the 
privacy necessary to secure success in so important 
an enterprise. Marie placed her most valuable and 
useful wearing apparel in a convenient traveling 
trunk, and was soon ready to bid a final farewell to 
the play-places of her childhood, the gay lawns, the 
charming bowers, the fragrant flowers, tlie singing 
birds, and all the kind comforts of home, which had 
aflTorded abundant happiness in her latter years. At 
an appointed time, at early morning, long before 
the watchful world was abroad, the faithful Henri 
was ready, and the happy couple were driven rapidly 
from the brilliant chateau of Mons. Buchez. A few 
miles and an easy drive brought them to the city of 
Bordeaux, and ere the golden sun lighted up the blue 
vault of heaven, Henri and Marie, by the voice of a 
good priest, were indissolubly united. An American 
vessel at this juncture was on the point of leaving on 
a homeward-bound voyage. "Without hesitation, a 
passage was secured. The ship was soon in readiness 
to sail. The passengers were all on board, the vessel 
was speedily under way, and a favorable breeze soon 
wafted them out to sea. As the land receded from 
view, the ci-devant^ though faithful, unflinching lov- 
ers, for the first, began to realize the magnitude of 
the transaction in which they wxre the prominent ac 



196 THE ISLAND HOME. 

tors. The adventurous couple had been too much 
absorbed in the thrilling scenes of the past, to calcu- 
late much upon the future. As the trusty vessel, true 
to her pilot and her helm, plowed her way magnifi- 
cently through the deep blue sea, and the last traces 
of land were lost to view, and nought but the round- 
ing billows of a trackless ocean variegated the pros- 
pect, Marie for once " cast a longing lingering look 
behind," and sighed in amazement and anguish at 
the irretrievable step she had taken. For a moment 
the wide world seemed a blank, the boundless ocean 
a grave, and the frail barque in which they were 
wafted towards a strange and homeless country, only 
a means or vehicle of transit from an earthly to a ce- 
lestial locality. 

While Marie was gazing intently over the blue 
waste of waters, to catch a faint and fleeting glance 
of her native coast, long after its dim outline had 
sunk below the horizon, her eyes suddenly became 
suffused with tears, her disheveled hair streamed 
wildly from her uncovered head, and sighs of sorrow 
strangely agitated her bosom. Her dear Henri had 
been absent, busily engaged in arranging their little 
stock of goods in the safe keeping of the proper offi- 
cer of the ship, and the whole had been carefully 
stowed away, as appendages necessary to make the 
voyage comfortable and agreeable, and their new 
home cheerful and happy. His surprise was at its 
highest pitch upon finding his loved one in a state of 
BO much misery. He consoled her as best he could, 



THE ISLAND HOME. 197 

she soon resumed her wonted cheerfulness, her Henri 
was nigh, he filled the widest space in her afi'ections, 
and was a world of happiness and delight to her. 

The voyage was prosperous, and proceeded in the or- 
dinary monotonous routine of sea voyages in general. 
In due time, after a favorable passage, they were landed 
in the city of ISTew York. For a while they wandered 
about that busy town, seeking seclusion from all obser- 
vers, continually thinking they might sooner or later be 
recognized by some of their countrymen or acquaint- 
ances, or some one who might be sent to seek them 
out. Ill at ease in their new situation, and finding a 
tumultuous city no fit place for security and solitude, 
they boldly resolved to bury themselves in the 
gloomy recesses of the forest. Taking the usual ave- 
nues to the western country, they passed up the 
North River, to Albany, where they spent a few 
days in making inquiries of the western traders for 
the most sequestered regions of the (then) west. 
They laid in a small stock of provisions, purchased 
some necessary furniture and cooking utensils, and 
without coming to any definite conclusion as to a 
place of destination, pursued their journey up the 
Mohawk Eiver to Fort Schuyler, and from thence in 
light Ijateau to the Oneida Lake. Coasting along 
the southern shore, they found much in the country 
to admire, and were peculiarly fascinated with the 
grandeur, magnificence, and loveliness of the unbro- 
ken forests. 

They had toiled on during a long and tedious day. 



198 THE ISLAND HOl^IE. 

l^ight was approaching, and two beautiful islands 
presented themselves to view. The deep blue sky 
was on all sides tinged with the varied hues of a de- 
lightful summer sunset ; and tinted foliage with its 
gilded edges, set all around in the calm, glassy waters 
of the lake, presented the scene like a splendid pic- 
ture in a vast frame. The winds of centuries had 
swept their furious currents over the idle waste ; 
strange birds, with brilliant plumage, everywhere 
spread their wide-extended wings along the midway 
air, with harsh, discordant notes, while others of 
lesser magnitude, with arrowy swiftness, darted from 
branch to branch in the dense forest, and caroled in 
merry glee the melody of gladness. Myriads of in- 
sects with jeweled wings sported on the sweet petals 
of the gay flowers, which were scattered in wild pro- 
fusion over the whole of the deeply shaded wilder- 
ness. Here the fleeting beauties of the wood lin- 
gered around as if listening to the sweet rij^ple of the 
running brook, or the wild, dashing wave of the 
troubled lake. ^Nature seemed languishing in all the 
simplicity and beauty of vegetable life. The soft 
breeze gently stirred the leafy forest, and the tall 
trees were hushed in all the silence of an unbroken 
solitude. The rising ridge and mossy banks, the 
bushy slopes and sandy shore, the running rivulet 
and silent pool, along whose borders the alder and 
the shadbush dipped their brown and snowy blos- 
soms, as if to awaken the most lively and exalted sen- 
timents. As yet, this beautiful region had been only 



THE ISLAND HOME. 199 

tho heritage of the wild tenants of the wood. The hand 
of man had made no inroad upon its dreary solitudes. 
Long had they been passed, by the jolly and toiling 
*voyagcurs of the lake, and noted by them only for the 
gloominess of their aspect and inhospitality of their 
shores. Tlie red hunter had here pursued the bear 
and deer for his sustenance, and these objects of the 
chase had long made the little islands a browsing- 
place and burrow, during winter's dreary reign; 
while the fox, the wolf, and panther had only occa- 
sionally howled a requiem to the wild winds as they 
swept heedless by. The busy insect had sported his 
gay colors in vain, and the sweet songs of the beau- 
tiful birds had died upon the breeze, unheeded by 
the wild beast, and unheard by man. 

Such were two nameless islands near the west end 
of Oneida Lake, when first visited (in 1797) by Henri 
De Yitzy and his dear Marie. On one of these, a ro- 
mantic spot, the little party resolved to spend the 
night. Their hateau was turned land-ward, its sharp 
prow furrowed the sandy beach, the joyous mariners 
walked gayly forth, their fragile craft was drawn high 
upon shore, and properly secured, and all were de- 
lighted with the enchanting prospect. The next step 
was to select a comfortable place, where to erect a 
temporary shelter for the night. They were not long 
in choosing a site. A couple of crotches were cut 
and set, a pole laid across, and green branches were 
cut from the low hemlocks and cedars. With these 
were made a covering sufficient to protect tliem from 



200 THE ISLAND HOME. 

the damp dews of evening, and the chilling winds of 
night. Delighted with the originality of the scenery, 
the isolated position of the locality, and the remarka- 
ble salubrity of the atmosphere, after a confidential 
conversation, Henri and his wife resolved to make 
this island their future home. Here the happy pair, 
in the quiet of this woodland retreat, far from the 
busy haunts of men, resolved to spend the residue of 
their days. "With the assistance of the two lateau- 
men who had rowed them from Fort Schuyler, they 
erected a rude log cabin — to them a palace, sufiicient 
for the abode of love, and all the wants of contented 
and happy man. They had brought along with them 
such indispensable furniture as they needed to carry 
on the affairs of housekeeping in a most simple and 
frugal way, and here the devoted lovers bestowed 
their little stock of provisions and furniture. A neat 
traveling bed occupied one corner, three rude stools 
served them for seats, a permanent table graced the 
center of the room, and a few iron, utensils for cook- 
ing, were sufficient for all the purposes of luxury, en- 
joyment and necessity. Being quietly settled in their 
new habitation, they felt happy in the society of them- 
selves alone. 

Sweet music like that of Calypso and her Nymphs 
breathed in soft and mellow gladness around their 
fairy-like home. And although the bribe of immor- 
tality was not tendered them as a condition of their 
permanent abiding here ; nor their tempting Ogygia 
threatened with an engulfment with the islands of the 



THE ISLAND HOME. 201 

Sirens in case of its abandonment, still a power, like 
enchantment, riveted them to the sequestered spot, 
and they felt happy in so favorable an opportunity 
to bury themselves in the depths of this most accept- 
able rural solitude, free from the restraints and allure- 
ments of society — apart from a cold, ungentle world, 
its false, enticing blandishments and bitter woes. 

Occasionally, the weary hateau-men as they passed 
on their route from Oswego to Albany called on " the 
Frenchman," and he was known far and wide to all 
the oarsmen of the lake only by that name. The lake 
supplied him abundantly with delicious fish. The 
woods furnished him with plenty of meat, and the use 
of his fishing-tackle and trusty rifle, became not only 
a source of pleasure, but the means of afibrding him 
and his family a measure of sustenance and support, 
while the trading boatmen furnished him with flour, 
meal, and such necessaries as were indispensable. 
"With the scanty funds he had secured and brought 
with him from France, he commenced with his red 
neighbors a traflic in furs. 

In time, he extended his operations, and the trade 
became lucrative. The result was, that the limits of 
his primitive cabin were enlarged, and improvements 
made, such as his increasing prosperity and ingenuity 
suggested. Henri and his beloved Marie had in for- 
mer years been well instructed in music, of which 
both were passionately fond. Often and again was 
the rude cabin made cheerful by the spirited notes of 
Henri's flute, and the sweet tones of Marie's voice, 
I* - 



202 THE ISLAND HOME. 

accompanied by tlie gentle touclies of lier guitar. 
By perseverance and industry, aided by the assistance 
of casual travelers, a broad spot was cleared of a heavy 
primeval forest, and a lovely garden was j^lanted and 
cultivated by the adventurous pair. Shrubs of beau- 
tiful foliage were planted to . adorn their humble 
dwelling, and trees of noble bearing yielded a pro- 
fusion of precious fruits, and flowers of sweetest fra- 
grance shed their rich odors upon the surrounding 
air, while delicious vegetables served to enrich their 
board, and make their situation more inviting, and 
their happiness complete. 

De Yitzy and his wife, usually about the first of 
December in each year, proceeded to Albany to 
spend the winter, and to make sale of the furs he 
had secured during the summer. There, in a most 
retired part of the city, they lived almost entirely 
unknowing and unknown. ITeither of them was at 
all anxious or even desirous of the society of the gay 
metropolis. Seclusion, and their own enjoyment, 
were the only riches they coveted. When the balmy 
breath of spring pervaded the atmosphere, and the 
kindly suns of summer promised a speedy approach, 
the vigilant pair again longed for their sweet, inviting 
island home, and the smiling first of May usually 
found them quietly settled in their forest lodge. For 
seven years, Marie and her husband pursued the 
same undeviating course. In summer, they whiled 
away the time in decorating their humble dwelling, 
in training sweet flowers, in cultivating the substan- 



THE ISLAND HOME. 



tial products of the garden, and in trading with the 
Indians. Many a lonely hour was beguiled by the 
sweet, melodious strains of Marie's voice and guitar, 
blending in harmony with the dulcet notes of Henri's 
flute. To the sweetest rose, there is always a thorn. 
Notwithstanding all this apparent enjoyment, encom- 
passed with an air of the most lively and romantic 
pleasure, there was a constant drawback, a continual 
check. They were far distant from all the pleasant 
associations of their early years. The fields, the 
friends, the flowers so familiar to them in their youth, 
were away ; and, although their residence was roman- 
tic, and happiness was enjoyed to an almost unlimited 
extent, still, there were times and seasons when they 
would sit in mournful silence, brooding over their sor- 
rows, thinking upon the dear parents they had de- 
serted, and brothers and sisters abandoned, friends 
and companions relinquished, and all the most tender 
ties of consanguinity rudely snapped in sunder, and 
all the luxuries renounced that wealth and affluence 
and polished society could give. Contrasting these 
with their lonely cabin for a dwelling-place, the un- 
tutored savage or the rude boatmen for their only 
companions, it is possible their hearts misgave them, 
and they might, in some of their more gloomy hours, 
have sighed for the sunny fields of France, the dear 
friends, the delightful pleasures, and charming scenes 
they had left behind. 

In a measure to compensate for their seeming va- 
cuity, and to till this void in their hearts, tbree smi- 



204 THE ISLAND HOME. 

ling little cherubs, the bright pledges and solace of 
their loves, had been benignly added to their number, 
at their island home. But when they reflected that 
these precious gifts of a kind Providence were to be 
reared without the advantages of society, or educa- 
tion, or accomplishments, and with no prosjDect of a 
richer portion than poverty could give, a deep shade 
passed over the sunshine of their joys, and at times a 
sigh would escape the lips of the mother, while the 
sire brooded in gloomy silence over the dreamy pros- 
pect of his little ones. The sweet music of their 
cabin would be hushed for a season, while yielding 
to sorrowful reflections — and the roar of the wild wind 
and the crash of the rude wave break in, in sorrow- 
ful melody upon their inward grief and stifled 
melancholy. 

While the feelings of the truant pair were vacilla- 
ting between their transient pleasures and accumula- 
ting misery, while despair seemed to be hanging over 
their doubtful destiny, while the last hope of release 
from their voluntary exile was ready to expire, and 
the gloom of woe darkened all their former bright 
visions of happiness, an unexpected and unlooked-for 
change came over their cheerless prospects. 

Upon a dark, dull evening in 1803, while nature 
was hushed in the quiet stillness of night, after there 
had been a long rehearsal of by-gone days^ with their 
pleasures and amusements, interspersed with gloomy 
speculations, and forebodings of the future, and their 
minds had sunk in despondency over the dim taper. 



THE ISLAND HOME. 205 

which shed its feeble light around the walls of the 
humble island cabin, the inmates were suddenly 
started from their reveries bj the measured footsteps 
of a man, and a loud knocking at the door. It was 
opened, and a tall figure glided silently in — calmly 
surveyed the rude tenement and its inmates, and with- 
out a word of premonition, clasped the good lady in 
his arms, and in accents of ecstasy exclaimed, 

"My daughter, my daughter." 

She gave one shriek of joy, faintly articulated 
" father," and swooned upon tlie floor. 

It was Mons. Buchez, who thus unceremoniously 
ventured to visit the truant pair. He turned toward 
the astonished Henri, extended his hand in silence, 
which was received with a cordial grasp, and pressed 
with gratitude to his bosom. After the application 
of the simple restoratives at hand, Marie recovered ; 
the recognition was complete, a hearty forgiveness 
was mutually proflered and accepted, and all unpleas- 
ant memories of the past sealed in oblivion. The 
little grandchildren — natives of the island — were 
aroused from their slumbers, and presented to their 
grandsire, and the joy of all was full. 

ISTot long after the departure of Marie and Henri from 
fair France, the gallant Buchez relented. His senti- 
ments were changed in this matter, and his mind sen- 
sibly afiected by the unexpected death of Madame 
Buchez. From the first moment of the departure of 
Marie, she had brooded over her bereavement in 
bitter anguish ; she closed her doors upon society ; 



20(5 THE ISLAND HOME. 

she sliiinned the votaries of fashion, and the splen- 
dors of the brilliant constellation in which she was 
ever the leading star, and became a very recluse in 
the midst of a gay and giddy world. She was sud- 
denly seized with fever, delirium succeeded, and her 
distracted thoughts dwelt exclusively upon her lost 
and forsaken daughter. At intervals, when her mind 
was more clear, she made Monsieur Buchez promise 
never to relax his exertion until he had found their 
lost child, and restored her and her husband to their 
proper rights and station. Remorse and regret has- 
tened the issue of her disease to an unfavorable crisis, 
and she expired, regretting to the last, the course she 
had taken, and that her life could not be prolonged 
to receive to her arms her beloved child, and make 
that reparation without which she felt but ill pre- 
pared to enter upon 



That undiscovered country from whose boumo 
No traveler returns." 



Upon her death, Mons. Buchez relinquished the 
toils of the camp, resigned the duties of the tented 
field, and far and wide sought the hiding-place of his 
daughter, with a view to a reconciliation. He trav- 
eled over the continent of Europe without success, 
and finally departed for America. He landed in IS'ew 
York, and from some French residents there, learned 
for the first, tidings of his long-lost daughter. He 
heard that persons answering to their description liad 
landed in that city, and had proceeded westward. At 



THE ISLAND HOME. 207 

Albany, he ascertained the place of their residence, 
and with the utmost expedition, thither hastened and 
found them, as before related. 

After a short stay at the island home, the overjoyed 
family retired to Xew York, bidding a final adieu to the 
charming spot, which, for more than seven years, had 
afforded them a kindly shelter, and pleasant retreat. 
Upon the clearance of the first packet, they all set 
Bail for France. Mons. Buchez welcomed his children 
and grandchildren to his home, the magnificent cha- 
teau upon the Garronne. The gay mansion resounded 
with the sounds of revelry and shouts of joy. Music 
and song lent their aid to grace the festive occasion, 
and hilarity and gladness filled the hearts of the old 
friends of the restored family to paternal confidence 
and favor. Mons. Buchez reinstated them in all the 
rights and privileges of heirship, settled upon them 
the whole of his immense fortune, and some months 
afterwards, expired. 

Being now possessed of extensive wealth and nu- 
merous friends, Henri and his beloved wife spared no 
pains in the education of their children, who grew 
up ornaments to their parents and society, and ever 
held their birth-place in happy remembrance, and 
dwelt with delight upon the scenes of their child- 
hood, in their solitary, but romantic island home. 

The liberal principles which Henri had imbibed 
during his sojourn in America, were such as were not 
easily eradicated. He had become charmed with 
American libertv and American institutions. These 



208 THE ISLAND HOME. 

principles and feelings were instilled into the hearts 
of his sons and a daughter who were native born 
Americans, and grew up with all their predilections 
for American customs, laws and government, although 
they became the adopted children of France. 

At the time of the dethronement of Charles X. 
these young men bore a conspicuous part ; and after 
the settlement of the crown upon the head of Louis 
Phillipe, their minds were ill at ease, and long and 
patiently did they wait the progress of reformation 
in a government thought by them to be partial, une- 
qual, and unjust. 

In the recent liberal movements which, we believe, 
ought to have totally eradicated the footprints of des- 
potism, and firmly established a more liberal govern- 
ment upon broad and equitable principles, upon a 
basis enduring as time, these men took an active part. 
And these children, born upon an obscure island in 
the Oneida Lake, are at this day ranked among the 
highest dignitaries of France. 

De Yitzy and his wife lived on in the full enjoyment 
of every blessing which elevates mankind in the scale 
of being, and contributes to the welfare of humanity, 
surrounded by a multitude of friends. They were 
finally gathered to their fathers in a good old age, be- 
loved and lamented by all who knew them. 

Fifty years have passed away since this island was 
abandoned by Henri and Marie, but the ruins of his 
cabin, so long their sweet, sweet home, and the fruit 
trees of his planting, and the little clearing for his 



THE ISLAND HOME. 209 

garden, are still to be seen npon the little island yet 
known as ^'Frenchman's Island^ While sweet sum- 
mer flowers idly waste their fragrant odors upon the 
listless air, and the glistening plain of icy crystal 
annually enchains its pebbly shore as in former times, 
still the primitive forest as yet otherwise unbroken, 
stands erect, having firmly withstood the sweeping 
storms of centuries, and the wild north wind whistles 
harmlessly through the strong branches, and hurls the 
waters of the blue Oneida in rushing and receding 
waves upon the same solitary, uninhabited shore. 

14 



THE PIONEER. 

" He was a mortal of the careless kind, 

"With no great love of learning or the learned, 
"Who chose to go where'er he had a mind, 

And never dreamed that others were concerned." 

Byron's Don Juan. 

The following story is literally true, and may be 
considered perfectly in keeping witli backwoods life, 
as it was in this favored land sixty years ago. It is 
also illustrative of the expedients often resorted to, to 
sustain life, and the trials, troubles and losses incident 
to the borderer. 

In the year 1Y91, there lived in the township of 
Manlius, on lot number ninety-seven, a complete spe- 
cimen of uncultivated humanity. His name was Na- 
than. He was a sort of Daniel Boone or David 
Crockett in a small way, and could grin the rough 
bark from off a hickory sapling in January, snap a 
rattlesnake's head off at a jerk, let cold lead into the 
^'daijUghts'' of the terrible "varmints,'' or "pink" 
the shirt of a red-skin equal to the best. In fact, he 
was never more at home than when half-starved, half- 
clad, fully equipped, ready for a tramp. He was a 
real free-and-easy, slip-shod, down-at-the-heel sort of 
a fellow, clever to a fault, strong as a giant, yet never 



THE PIONEEK. 'Jll 

knew harm or harbored malice against his neighbor. 
He was one of that class who are always dependent 
upon their ways and their means for a living, which 
to a man of his temperament and disposition, were 
always ample, whether in scarcity or abundance, in 
prosperity or adversity. It was all the same to him 
if the instant wants of the family were satisfied, and 
the last meal upon the table was equal to a full store- 
house of eatables. He never took thought for the 
morrow. His abiding motto under all circumstances 
was, " The Lord loill provide. ^"^ 

At the time of the removal of JSTathan with his 
family from the " Old Bay Stated' his worldly goods 
Avere few. That is, they would be so considered now- 
a-days. These consisted of an aged mare, that had 
seen the most favorable side of twenty good old E'ew 
England summers, and at this period had more the 
appearance of just escaping in doubtful condition from 
the labors, trials, privations and other calamitous con- 
tingencies of a past hard winter, than anything else. 
Tlie residue of the stock, consisted of one old cow, 
the worthy progenitor of a numerous progeny, and 
one old ewe, doubly valuable for having been bred a 
cosset, and for possessing a wonderful proneness to 
multiplying her kind. You will perceive that :N'a- 
than had a strong j^enchant^ a remarkable veneration 
for the antique in all things, for in his casual enume- 
ration of goods and chattels, he invariably named 
himself first, and then tlie children, then " my old 
bonny, the old mully, the old nanny and my old wo- 



212 THE PIONEEE. 



the ^Yife and children, and such other things as were 
deemed indispensable to house-keeping in a new 
country. These last had been carefully stowed away 
in the box of the old wood-shod ^^ jpung^'' which, with 
a stock of provisions for the journey, and a beginning, 
made quite a formidable load. But the kind and 
true old creature was enough for it ; she proved worthy 
of her task, and by dint of great bodily exertion and 
perseverance, with uncommon capacity for endurance, 
she transported them all safely to their new home. 
The older members of the family, of course, occasion- 
ally eased the jaded creature up the hills. ISTathan 
himself, on foot, drove the cow and ewe. With this 
array of live stock, he thought himself rich for a 
commencement, and from the increase, he had pic- 
tured in his lively imagination, magnificent steeds, 
neighing fiercely in their stalls ; splendid herds, fat 
and well-favored, feeding lazily upon broad meadows, 
waving with luxuriant grass, and countless flocks, 
with their rich, snowy fleeces, checkering the green 
hill sides. 

It was in the month of March, 1791, that IN'athan, 
with all his auxiliaries and appendages made his en- 
trance upon his newly selected abode. At this time 
there had no one settled in that neighborhood, and 
his nearest neighbors were located at Morehouse's 
Flats, Salt Point and Onondaga Hollow. Nathan 
was, with his wife and little ones, quite alone in the 
forest, and without shelter. Nothing daunted, how- 



rnE PIONEER. 213 

ever, he set to work at once, made a temporary hut 
of poles and hemlock boughs, against the lee side of 
a prostrate oak, throwing some stones together for a 
fireplace. The wide wilderness served my dame for 
kitchen and parlor for the time being, and the box of 
the old pnng for bunks and bedroom. The baby- 
jumper of Nathan's nursery was simply a slip of 
birch bark, curled up in the sun. Everything around 
him seemed to correspond in perfect harmony to the 
rudest primitive simplicity. The little, barefooted, 
half-clad children, as they gamboled in frolicsome 
glee and merry mood around the blazing log fire, and 
shifted about to avoid the smoky side, exhibited their 
rosy cheeks, brilliant eyes and pearly teeth, in a very 
enviable way, compared with the pampered progeny 
of the present generation. Ere long, N'athan reared 
a comfortable log cabin, and began to estimate the 
ways and means of living. Tree after tree fell under 
the vigorous strokes of his axe. The clear unob- 
structed light of heaven began to reveal itself, and 
came cheerily into his cabin unshadowed. Prospects 
everywhere brightened around him, his ambition was 
aroused, and had not misfortune succeeded misfortune 
with greater rapidity and more boisterous tide than 
he could bufi'et, it probably never would have flagged. 
Ilis progress might have been more rapid and still 
onward, and his career attended with abundance, 
prosperity and success. But in an evil hour the cur- 
rent of his hopes received a check, and like many a 



214 thp: pioneer. 

wise and careful calculator he was doomed to disap- 
pointment, and all on account of "'had luckP 

The first event of importance that happened after 
his arrival, and which in itself was indeed a great ca- 
lamity, was the death of the old cow. Had he not 
himself been unwittingly the cause of her destruc- 
tion, he might have eased himself somewhat of the 
grief it gave him. It happened tliat the friendly, do- 
cile animal never strayed far away from the cabin of 
her owner, but found ample employment in browsing 
the tender buds and shoots from tlie trees felled by 
his master hand. At length Nathan became careless 
and thoughtless of the cow, and before he was aware 
of it, a monstrous maple fell across her and crushed 
her to atoms. Alas for him, the fatigues of the jour- 
ney, and continued hard fare afterwards, had worn 
her down by degrees, almost to that doubtful, undefi- 
nable condition, just between living and dying. That 
is, she was none of the fattest, and perhaps might 
have been properly likened to one of the seven lean 
kine dreamed of by Pharaoh, which came up out of 
the river. She was, therefore, a perfect loss, and one 
sincerely mourned by the family. Yet the thing that 
sat heaviest on the heart of poor Nathan and grieved 
him most acutely was, that he had not been conside- 
irate enou2:h to furnish the ''''kind old critter'''^ with a 
bell, that she might thereby have warned him of her 
presence. The loss of the cow was really a source 
of discouragement to all, himself and his household. 
But when he reflected upon the matter, he felt re^^on- 



THE PIONEER. 215 

ciled to take a philosophical view of it, and amidst 
the consequent desolation of affairs, the dearth of ne- 
cessaries and the want of milk, he quietly consoled 
himself by applying his favorite maxim, "She is 
gone, the good old critter, but /or all that, the Lord 
will jprcmide.^'' 

Of course it was better to be reconciled to una- 
voidable troubles than to be continually murmuring 
— to shoulder tlie clog and carry it, rather than to 
drag it. Had it not been for other disasters that fol- 
lowed directly upon the heels of this, poor Nathan 
might have fully recovered from the effects of his 
loss, resumed his wonted equanimity of temper, and 
jogged on again, hopefully, to happy days of pros- 
perity. But as misfortune seldom comes single, and 
with him it thickened to a tempest, the thing was im- 
possible. Only a few mornings after the death of the 
cow, he was doomed to further misery in the loss of 
the old ewe. An ugly wolf, in the dead hour of 
night, had made bold to take the helpless, timid ani- 
mal to himself, tearing it limb from limb to death, 
leaving nothing for poor JSTathan but scattered locks 
of bloody wool and fragments of her mangled car- 
cass. This was indeed a sad catastrophe, for from the 
fleece had been anticipated at least one pair of stock- 
ings for each of the family, and frolicsome^ lambs 
not. less than two. In this case as with the cow, he 
had cause to reproach himself, for he well knew he 
could, with little trouble to himself, have put the 
helpless animal in fold, and by so doing saved her 



216 THE PIONEER. 

life. Still, the loss, to his idea, was mainly owing to 
" had luck.^"^ It was a loss incalculable, for with her 
and the cow, expired all his hopes of lowing herds 
upon the boundless meadows, and bleating flocks upon 
a thousand hills. Nothing was left but the old mare, 
and she now showed such evident symptoms of disso- 
lution and decay, that no dependence or calculation 
could be placed upon her prancing posterity. These 
adversities not only blasted his hopes, and lulled his 
aspirations, but had the effect also to cool his energy 
and repress his ardor. His spirit became sad, and he 
sunk involuntarily into a dreamy, moody, pensive 
state, forgetful of his duties to himself and family. 
Yet when aroused by his wife from his stupor, and 
reminded that exertion might become necessary for 
their preservation and existence, he only shrugged 
his shoulders and replied — " The Lord will provide,''^ 
During the summer of the before-mentioned year, 
the really substantial things of life ran pretty low 
with our friend JSTathan, especially those most neces- 
sary for the sustenance of the inner man. His wife, 
poor, patient soul, had long retained her pent up grief 
in silence, but when the certain gnawings of absolute 
hunger were upon her innocent children, the mother's 
heart gave way, and she murmured, only in the too 
certain prospect of approaching famine. As the sea- 
son advanced, affairs looked more gloomy, for there 
was no meal in the tub, no pork in the barrel, nor 
flour in the bag, nor corn, nor pig, nor wheat to make 
them of. There was nothing in store. " The summer 



THE PIONEER. 217 

was past, and the harvest was ended," but his garner 
was empty. There was a cold and cheerless winter 
before them, and but a doubtful prospect of comfort- 
ably reaching the sunny side of smiling May. " Kever 
mind," said N'athan, most heroically, " Tha Lord will 
jprovideP " He never yet made a mouth but he 
filled it." This was cool consolation to the poor wo- 
man and a numerous family of half-clad, famishing 
children around her crying for bread. It is true that 
ISTathan was sober and temperate, though not remark- 
ably industrious. If the weather was fair, it was well, 
and if it stormed it was just as well. ISTathan went 
on in this way for some time ; his means of subsist- 
ence daily becoming alarmingly less and less, while 
the pressing wants of his family became distressingly 
more and more. In fact, everything in the shape of 
food and raiment was well nigh exhausted. His wife 
repined, murmured, looked demure and felt sad. But 
to all this, Nathan still calmly replied, " Tlie Lord 
will provide.^^ 

Aftairs were rapidly approaching a crisis ; but as 
good luck would have it, Nathan procured a grist of 
corn. This kindly god-send cheered the drooping 
spirits of the hungry family. Their blood coursed 
freer. The samp and molasses revived the flickering 
lamp of life, and all again felt happy and refreshed. 
" Ah," said Nathan, " I always told you ' The Lord 
will provide^ and moreover, when things come to the 
worst, they are certain to mend." 

Not long after this timely assistance, he took a turn 
I 



218 THE PIONEER. 

to tlie Limestone Creek, near wliicli lie lived, and 
while crossing, to his great astonishment as well as 
joy, he discovered a shoal of salmon shut np in a 
deep " liole^'^ where it was impossible for them to 
escape, the shallow water running out over the natu- 
ral basin as fast as it ran in, not leaving depth enough 
for them to swim away. This was indeed a joyful 
scene for ISTathan. In a perfect transport of delight 
he ran home, took his fish-spear, returned, and in less 
than no time secured seven as nice salmon as ever 
swam. When the glorious prize lay extended on the 
green grass, in full view before him, he felt rich in- 
deed ; and as if his former losses were in a degree 
compensated, and every glittering scale was as a 
piece of silver. When he had them "strung," in or- 
der that he might conveniently carry them, he found 
that he had two full back-loads. With a portion ho 
trudged home, and soon returned for the remainder, 
and after the whole were deposited at the door of his 
cabin, there was a general shout of exultation over 
this timely good fortune. " Ah," said Nathan, in a 
perfect paroxysm of joy, " I always said, '-The Lord 
loill 2^'i'omde^ and it is a long road that has no turn." 
It soon after happened that Il^athan, in one of his 
rambles, accidentally stumbled upon a bee-tree. 
Again the hearts of the despairing family rejoiced, as 
the sweets of life so opportunely entered their cabin. 
When the precious store was fully secured, it was 
found that one hundred and fifty pounds of pure 
honey was the result of their good fortune. "Ah," 



THE PIONEER. 219 

ejaculated Nathan, " I always said, ^The Lord will 
provide ' — always better late than never." 

Kot long afterwards, in a cool, clear November 
morning, after a light fall of snow, Nathan crossed 
the track of a bear, which he followed to his den. 
Nothing daunted, he drew up his trusty firelock, and 
laid the monster dead at his feet. The savage ani- 
mal proved to be an enormously large one of his kind, 
and fat enough to satisfy the taste of the most dainty 
epicure. Nathan speedily divested his bearship of 
his skin, dressed his carcass, and was not long in con- 
veying the whole to his humble cabin. The skin was 
tanned, the fat was tried, and the flesh was salted, 
dried, and laid away for keeping. He had now a 
full supply of that excellent substitute for lard and 
butter, in the excess of bear's fat, and plenty of that 
valuable substitute for pork, bacon and beef, in the 
hams and carcass. Many a hearty meal was made 
joyful thereafter, as the healthy family gathered 
around their humble board, and a contented gladness 
for a long time pervaded the now happy cabin. 

The skin was one of great value, provided it could 
be got to market. This was a work of great magni- 
tude, for there was no depot for furs nearer than forty 
miles. It was finally resolved that the eldest daugh- 
ter. Lowly, a girl of about seventeen years of age, 
should take the skin to Whitestown, on horseback, 
and there barter it for flour. The old browse-kept 
mare (by the way, one of the first horses introduced 
mto the country) was now in urgent requisition. She 



220 THE PIONEER. 

was made ready, and the bearskin — the whole avail- 
able ^^ funds " or surplus commodity of the estate — 
was securely tied on, and the girl, mounted above all, 
with a light heart set out on her adventure of trade. 
Success attended her efforts, and on the fifth day she 
returned with one hundred and fifty pounds of good 
wheat flour, tea, spices, &c. &c., sufficient for a long 
time. It was a most cordial greeting the girl re- 
ceived on her return, and none felt the reality of this 
timely succor more than E'athan, because it relieved 
him from labor or further exertion. He could look 
forward with delight to a long period of ease and in- 
activity — to him, the real essence of his being. E'ow, 
more than ever, he felt assured that he experienced 
the kind interposition of Providence in his behalf, 
and again in a perfect ecstasy of joy he exclaimed, 
"See; The Lord will provide.''^ 

The flour w^as kneaded with the bear's fat and 
hone}^, and converted into cakes. These were sold to 
travelers at a good, round profit, and thus turned 
profitably into cash. The sale of these dainties made 
sufficient business for a man of l^athan's easy humor. 
Lowly, the patient daughter, was sent again and again 
to Whitestown, to make new purchases with the 
profits of trade. The making of cake was continued 
so long as the bear's fat and honey held out. In pro- 
cess of time, however, Nathan's capital stock consid- 
erably diminished, and from the daily drafts made 
thereon by himself and family, it was destined, in the 
long run, to become exhausted, for the sole reason that 



THE PIONEER. 221 

he became too indolent to line bees, to Inint bears, or 
to labor at scratcliins: the back of his mother earth, 
forcing her in ecstasy to yield him bread. The re- 
sult was, he soon found it convenient, if not neces- 
sary, to again trench himself behind his old maxim — • 
" The Lord will provide.^'' 

If it were possible to add to the losses and disap- 
pointments already sustained through Nathan's im- 
providence, indolence, and " bad luck," a penetrating 
mind would have been somewhat guarded against 
future contingencies. But he had passed along so 
swimmingly and so much at his ease, that he had put 
too far off the evil day. At length a new and un- 
looked-for calamity overtook him, and filled the 
measure of his misery to the brim. He had not laid 
in a sufficient stock of hay and provender for the old 
mare, and the little laid by had long since disap- 
peared. The faithful old creature had been doomed 
to get her living as best she could by browsing. Her 
tottering limbs were unable to bear her away far into 
the woods, and all the underbrush near by had been 
thoroughly cropped. Of late the haggard animal had 
spent the most of her time in a particular corner of 
her master's enclosure, and there, in a state of per 
petual decline, with arched back and downcast eye, 
she swayed to and fro, as if meditating whether it was 
best to give up the doubtful struggle without further 
effort, or merely satisfy her present hunger by an 
attack upon her fore feet. A flock of crows, with 
li\'ely appetite, had for a long time anxiously watched 



222 THE PIONEEK. 

the matted coat, the prominent bone, and relaxing 
muscle of the emaciated animal with much apparent 
gratification, as appeared by their frequent cawings 
and lively gyrations. For many a day they sat plu- 
ming their feathers in antic mood on the neighboring 
trees, waiting the period of onslaught. But, unwil- 
ling to bide the course of nature and events, one 
gloomy afternoon, after the poor creature had en- 
dured a long and trying abstinence, the saucy birds 
made a sudden descent upon her, and before the bat- 
tle closed, the ravenous rogues had secured to them- 
selves the best part of her. Of course, she did not 
long survive the disaster. Ever after this, as you 
may well suppose, our pioneer was " death on crows," 
and he never afterwards was greeted with a caw from 
one of the black rascals, but he renewed his vow of 
revenge for the murder of his mare. This sad catas- 
trophe wound up the affairs of J^athan into a hard 
knot. His live stock in less than a twelve month 
had all forcibly paid the debt of nature, and so far 
he was relieved from care — a fact which really af- 
forded him some consolation. The wife and children, 
however, were left, and for these ]3ro vision had to be 
made. As for the solid materials with which to do 
so, he knew not from whence they were to come. 
His only hope in this perplexing extremity was — 
"TAfi Lord will jprovideP 

Tlie last part of the winter found the necessaries of 
life running pretty low. He had dug ground-nuts to 
make soup of, and leeks and crinkle-root for season- 



THE PIONEKR. 223 

ing, wliicli, with beechnuts and butternuts, had con- 
tributed materially to help along^ and spice-bush, and 
evan-root tea, sweetened with maple sugar, of which 
he had made a little, though something of a luxury, 
had been the family beverage for some time. Even 
these, in their turn, were difficult to obtain. Money 
was scarce, though there was nothing to exchange for 
it, had it been plenty. Provisions grew dear ; they 
could not be obtained without money or labor, and 
these could not be furnished by E'athan, for the for- 
mer he had not, and the latter he never had a dispo- 
sition for. Bees could not be "Zme^," for they were 
dorm'ant in the trees. Salmon did not inhabit the 
streams at this season ; they were all out at sea. 
Bears were not easily found in their burrows, and if 
they had been, they would scarcely be worth the 
trouble of slaughtering, so lean and haggard did they 
come out in the spring; and deer were altogether 
too shy for one of IsTathan's indolent habits, to get 
sight of. 

Before the last snows of winter had entirely disap- 
peared, or the balmy breath of spring had fairly re- 
gained its joyful empire, poorlSTathan was compelled 
to wander abroad in quest of those things considered 
indispensable to the union of soul and body. He 
found himself in no very agreeable mood with man- 
kind in general, or with his immediate neighbors in 
particular, for they were rapidly hemming him in on 
every side, and were considerably in advance of him 
in everything that adds to the comforts of life. Ad- 



224 THE PIONEER. 

vancing prosperity had no charms for him. This ap- 
parent thrift in others made Nathan discontented 
with himself and his own sorry condition — for it 
would not bear a contrast. He cursed his "bad 
luck," and from moroseness and misanthropy began 
to distrust that Being in whom he had but lately im- 
perfectly trusted to " provide " for him. In one of 
his vagrant wanderings, he accidentally met a ven- 
erable clergyman — a pioneer missionary — who had 
lately arrived as one of the first laborers in this 
gloomy and imcultivated portion of Zion. This was 
enough for our poverty-stricken pioneer. He re- 
turned home perfectly crest-fallen, told his family 
that he felt completely discouraged — that the settlers 
already began to talk "about establishing schools, and 
erecting school-houses. And now, said he, with a 
woebegone countenance, " the missionaries have 
come — we shall have them to feed, and meeting- 
houses to build. It is really too much ; it will prove 
our ruin. It is high time for us to leave a country 
yielding so rapidly to improvements. It afibrds no 
protection to the natural tastes, habits and disposi- 
tions of man." He took no rest until he had sold his 
little farm, with a slight advance for " the better- 
ments," and made immediate arrangements to leave 
for that ever-retreating, indefinable, unknown, illim- 
itable country — the " Far WesV^ He soon left be- 
tween the late and early, and the last that was heard 
of poor Nathan, he was somewhere between two set- 



THE PIONEEE. 225 



tlements, trudging along with a back load of goods, 
with his wife and children, and two dogs at liis heels 
patiently, though slowlj, widening the distance be- 
tween himself and the last link of civilization. 

J* 15 



TRIALS OF BORDER LIFE 

" To them the deep recess of dusky groves, 
Or forest, where the deer securely roves. 
The fall of water, and the song of birds, 
And hills that echo to the distant herds, 
Are luxuries excelling all the glare 
The world can boast, and her chief favorites share." 

Cowper's Retirement. 

Sixty years ago was a period noted for the plain- 
dealing, economy, industry and perseverance of the 
few inhabitants who were gradually settling the rich 
lands of Western ISTew York. Everything was dif- 
ferent then from anything known to the present gene- 
ration. Sixty years ago the beaver and the flood 
erected the only dams across the streams. Woods 
thickly covered the earth in all this vast, delightful 
region. Men's houses were uniformly built of logs, 
chimneys of sticks, plastered with mud made more 
adhesive by an admixture of straw. Fireplaces had 
no jambs then, only a huge pile of stones for a back, 
piled up and mortared with mud. Doors were set 
opposite to eacli other, so that monster logs, three feet 
through and eight feet long, could be drawn in with 
a horse or well-trained ox. Against these, large fires 



TRIALS OF BOEDER LIFE. 227 

were continually kept burning. It was then an ob- 
ject to get rid of wood — not to preserve it. The 
faster it was burned the better. Windows were made 
of greased paper, which let in only a dim translucent 
light, ill fitted for seeing objects abroad. Eoofs were 
made of barks, and floors of split logs, '-'- sjpoUed^'' to 
sleepers lying on the ground. Log barns and hovels 
covered with barks and brush were abundant, though 
frame barns came into use long before frame houses. 
Farming utensils were rough and clumsy. An old 
" bull plow," with its wrought iron share, the like not 
known to this age, and an old " crotch drag " were 
all the tools used in preparing ground for a croj^, and 
a wood-shod sled was about the only vehicle in use 
for the farm, for market, mill or meeting. 

Occasionally a little grain, and perhaps a little pork 
could be purchased, provided a man could procure 
the money with which to buy. Here was the rub ; 
very few possessed this all-important article, or the 
disposable means wherewith to obtain it. Labor, 
however, was as good as cash, and he who had no 
money could go to some one who had a little of some- 
thing to spare, and work a few days, or chop an acre 
by the job, live comfortable while doing it, and on 
settlement receive his earnings in flour, corn meal, 
and a few pounds of pork, sling the whole across his 
shoulders, and trudge off a dozen or more miles on 
foot, to his home, when he and his wife, and perhaps 
three or four little ones, would get along very well for 
a while, witli the additional heljD of the milk fur- 



228 TRIALS OF BOKDER LIFE 

nislied from a cow that could get a tolerable living 
from tlie browse and herbage of the woods. While 
this stock of provisions lasted, the woodman was usu- 
ally earnestly engaged in clearing his own lands, and 
fortunate indeed was he, if, on the second or third 
year, he could clear and fence a field sufficiently large 
to raise a few potatoes, a little wheat and corn, suffi- 
cient for his own immediate wants. ,The earliest set- 
tlers were often very much relieved by a timely sup- 
ply of bear's meat and deer's flesh. But this was a 
means of subsistence too precarious to be relied upon, 
except by those who were hunters entirely by occu- 
pation. Often has the laboring axeman toiled on pa- 
tiently from day to day, upon a scanty allowance 
without a murmur or complaint, hoping for relief in 
better times to come. 

Leeks were plenty, which used to be gathered and 
boiled for greens. Indeed they were considered very 
nutritious and palatable ; always up and green as 
soon as the snow disappeared in spring. They con- 
stituted the earliest food for cattle of anything of 
spontaneous growth, and frequently by ''^ sugar time ^"^ 
the southern nill sides were literally as "green as a 
leeky There never was a fresh clover pasture that 
cattle were half as fond of as they were of the wild 
leeks. It is true, that the butter made from the 
cream of the cows feeding upon this vegetable, would 
taste somewhat rank of the article itself. New com- 
ers from the east declared they could not endure it, 
nor ever learn to eat of it. But a few days of prac- 



TRIALS OF BOEDER LITE. 229 

tice, after being told (by those who had become more 
experienced) to take a bit of raw leek and chew a 
little at the time of sitting down to eat, completely 
cured them. Indeed this leek-tasting became so com- 
mon that it settled into an almost universal custom, 
and when women set their tables they placed a nicely 
dressed white raw leek beside the plate of each per- 
son, to bite before tasting the butter. 

The few old settlers who yet linger among us, dis- 
tinctly recollect these circumstances, notwithstanding 
they may appear strange to the present generation. 
The old adage that " necessity is the mother of in- 
vention" was perhaps never more practically verified 
than during the early settlement of Western New 
York, in the prudent and economical manner by 
which the people contrived to live, while subduing 
the sturdy forests preparatory to raising food for 
themselves and cattle. A thousand resources were 
made available in procuring the means of subsist- 
ence, that in this, our day, Avould be considered sin- 
gular enough. There was the evan-root, which formed 
with many an essential article for family use. It was 
indigenous to the wet grounds, and was used as a sub- 
stitute for tea, cofiee and chocolate, which latter it 
very much resembled in flavor. Then came the wa- 
ter cresses growing in every little stream, a most 
beautiful, green, tender, brittle and delicious salad. 
The crinkle-root and ground-nut contributed their 
share ; while sassafras, spice-bush and wintergreen 
constituted the principal spices, and the liberal maplG 



230 TRIALS OF BOEDER LIFE. 

supplied all that was necessary for sweetening. Peo- 
ple had no occasion to visit the stores ; necessaries 
and luxuries flowed in upon them spontaneously ; 
sturdy men, with no fortune but an axe, set them- 
selves at work, and by diligence and industry soon 
acquired wealth, by a sure and steady process. Health 
and strength prevailed among men in those days, 
more than now, and industry, economy and frugality 
were the adorning qualities of woman. We say wo- 
man, because, according to the modern acceptation 
of the term, there were no ladies then. Most of the 
gentler sex enjoyed the highest of lieavenly titles be- 
stowed uj)on mortals : Woman — " Heaven's first best 
gift to man." 

Clothing was all homespun, strong and durable. 
Tow shirts were all the rage in summer, and linsey- 
woolsey, or woolen-flannel in winter. My dame also 
took great pride in her nice pressed, madder red, new 
gown, all of her own manufacture, cut and make. It 
was comfortable ; it kept out the cold and reflected a 
high, healthy color to the cheeks of herself and bloom- 
ing daughters, as if defying lassitude, moping, mel- 
ancholy and consumption. Spinning wheels and 
looms were tlie musical instruments of those days. 
Pianos, guitars, harps, harpsichords and such like, 
would have been as much curiosities as the horns 
sounded at the downfall of the walls of Jericho, or 
the sackbut, psaltery and dulcimer played at the dedi- 
cation of the image set up by Nebuchadnezzar. Wo- 
men's " slips and gowns " were very difi'erent articles 



TRIALS OF BORDER LIFE. 231 

from the " dresses " of the ladies of the present gene- 
ration. A new calico gown was a " dress up " arti- 
cle, and could not be afforded for every day wear. 

Many men made their own shoes, or substitutes 
from the " hockskin " of neat cattle. Boots were sel- 
dom worn, and "Siiwarrows, Wellingtons, tasseled- 
tops, and white-tops," were only known to the more 
wealthy, and these only succeeded the old shoe- 
buckles and short-breeches, after a long and violent 
struggle. Shoes and boots were considered only half 
worn when it became necessary to bind the old rips 
and rents together with withes, and not unfrequently 
a pair lasted the owner for years before being cast 
away. Many a good man and woman have been 
known to go all the week bare-footed at home, and on 
Sundays walk almost to the meeting-house, and then 
sit down by the road side, put on the " new shoes," 
so as to " appear decent in meeting." 

A good suit of clothes was never out of fashion, 
and in some instances lasted a whole generation with- 
out decay, being carefully brushed and laid away as 
soon as the wearer returned home. Some of these old 
suits have been in and out of fashion's scorn and deri- 
sion, favor and approval at least a dozen times w^ithin 
one man's lifetime. Wlien new, they were kept 
especially for great occasions, and '' Sunday-go-to- 
meetini]:." 

Old men frequently went to meeting on horseback, 
with their wives seated on a " pillion " behind them, 
and perhaps a child before them, and a third in the 



232 TRIALS OF BOKDEK LIFE. 

mother's arms. If snows were deep, the ox-sled was 
brought out and the whole family piled on, adding 
neighbors by the way, till the room within the stakes 
Avas full, and more holding on outside. Those were 
days when all carried their lunch to meeting and ate 
it wdth a relish — when the old men gathered in sum- 
mer under the shade of some wide-spread tree, and 
near to a bubbling spring, where they could dip up 
the sparkling water in the broad-brims of their felt 
hats, to quench thirst and wash down their bread and 
cheese. Many a good story has been related — not 
spoiled by being told on " Sabhy-dayy Besides, it 
gave a most favorable opportunity to discuss the 
merits of every ox, cow and horse in the country, and 
doubtless these were better remembered than the par- 
son's sermon. 

Notwithstanding the humble dress and simple fare 
of these early settlers, and some excusable singular- 
ities, they were neighbors — empliatically so : good, 
generous, kind and affectionate to each other. The 
cheerful smile of welcome and the open hand of hos- 
pitality, always met the stranger, and new comer to 
the settlement. Among them there was no jealousy, 
no strife nor malice ; and if there are any examples 
of good neighborhood deserving commendation more 
than others to the rising generation, it is that state of 
unreserved, truly social, honest good feeling which 
once so universally prevailed in our newly settled 
country, but which, even now, is fearfully departing. 
On all occasions a sterner republican virtue existed, 



TRIALS OF BOEDER LIFE. 233 

and a loftier patriotism burned in the bosoms of the 
purer patriots of those thinly peopled districts, than 
are ever found in large towns and cities, which if 
more closely imitated at the present day, would fore- 
bode greater permanency and stability to the govern- 
ment and institutions of our country. 

Snows fell deeper in those days than now, and 
lasted longer, because the winds could not sweep thera 
away, nor the sun melt them, for the dense forest 
shaded them effectually. One of the circumstances 
peculiar to those times, will give an illustration of the 
singularity of the age. 

The winter of 1797-8 was an uncommonly cold one. 
The snow commenced falling in K'ovember, and ac- 
cumulated without thaws to the depth of several feet. 
There was little yielding until after the vernal equi- 
nox. Little chopping could be done by the foresters. 
Most of the highways were completely blocked up, 
yet, wlien broken, they left on either side a high wall, 
rendering it almost impossible for teams to pass each 
other. Many a family had to back their wood during 
the winter. Other privations were not w^anting ; there 
had been considerable deficiency in the harvest the 
summer previous. Yet, for all this, there was one alle- 
viating circumstance, very favorable to the prosperity 
of the settlers. There had been an unusual growth 
of nuts and acorns the fall previous. Upon these 
the hogs liad fattened. These animals frequently 
strayed far away from the habitations of their owners 
and made their resting-places in the woods. After 



234 TRIALS OF BOEDER LIFE. 

the snow fell thej still continued searching after the 
mast among the leaves, and as the snow increased in 
depth and density, they made roads underneath. A 
heavy crust soon formed over the whole surface, 
which completely hid the swine from view. It was 
impossible for them to return home. Many persons 
came to the conclusion that their hogs were lost. 
Months passed away, and no tidings of them could be 
gleaned. They had made roads under the surface of 
the snow through every portion of the woods where 
nuts and acorns were to be found, and through a long 
severe winter subsisted entirely upon these spontane- 
ous productions. "When the sugar season came on, 
while out tapping trees, some of the woodmen ob- 
served, that in walking over the crust, there were 
many places having the appearance of being hollow 
underneath. Upon thrusting a pole down, it was 
found to be paths made by the hogs. These led 
about, intersecting each other in every direction. 
The places selected for the night would be at the root 
of some tree which had been upturned by the wind. 
From these places they would make their daily sal- 
lies for food, and return at night to rest. When the 
spring came on they were released, but wild. What 
was most surprising, many of them had so increased 
in size that they were unknown to their owners, and 
much trouble was had in identifying the right. 



TRIALS OF BORDER LITE. 236 

LOST CHILD. 

Of all the terrible cries that ever agitated a fron- 
tier settlement, none was more appalling than that of 
" lost child ! " One must have lived in a new coun- 
try, and in a sparsely settled region to understand the 
thrilling import of these startling words, and to real- 
ize the electric effect they produced in rousing a whole 
community for miles around to unwearied search. 
On a given signal, hundreds of people would, at a 
moment's notice, assemble and scour the woods and 
fields for miles, or until the object for which they 
were in search, was found. 

In 1811 two little girls named Shephard, whose 
father lived near South Bay, on Oneida Lake, went 
into the woods to look for the cows, near night. Af- 
ter searching some time in vain, they found them- 
selves unable to trace their way back. The neigh- 
borhood w^as alarmed, and arrangements were speed- 
ily made for their recovery. The woods were scoured 
for twenty miles around — the most vigilant search 
was made day and night, and it was not till the third 
day at evening that the little wanderers were found 
snugly, ensconced, fast asleep, beside an old log, un- 
harmed. Their only subsistence had been from the 
ground-nuts and wintergreens they had gathered in 
their rambles. 



236 TRIALS OF BOEDEK LITE. 

HUNT FOR A LOST CHILD. 

In 1799, several families bad taken up their abode 
in the township of Fabius. One of these families had 
three or four small children, and among them, an in- 
teresting little girl, three years old. The children 
had played about the bushes near the house, as usual, 
and when night approached, they all came in except 
the little girl, who was missing. The mother called, 
but no voice responded. Darkness came on and ex- 
cluded every object from view. It requires no effort 
to describe the keenness of suffering and agony which 
pervaded the hearts of the bereaved family group. 
The alarm was speedily communicated to the scat- 
tered pojDulation for miles around. Each man with 
a bark torch in his hand, repaired to the scene of dis- 
tress. The woods were thoroughly scoured by torch- 
light, but no child could be found. During the night, 
the whole country had been alarmed, and by day- 
light next morning, a large force was ready upon the 
ground to proceed in search. The men were mar- 
shaled under command of officers chosen on the spot, 
and the search was systematically renewed. As the 
line swept around in a wide circuit, words cauld be 
readily passed to one and another, so as to keep up a 
regular and constant communication throughout the 
whole extent. About ten o'clock in the forenoon, 
word was passed along the line — '•'' Child found I "^^ 
This intelligence produced the most frantic joy, and 
complete disorder. He that could leap the highest, 



TRIALS OF BORDER LIFE. 237 

n\Ti the fastest, or was nearest the house, got there 
Irst. 

Judge Miles, now no more, was the fortunate finder. 
Che child had lain on a nice little bed of leaves, be- 
'.ween two logs, and when the judge stepped upon 
)ne of them, the little innocent, standing upon her 
feet, looking him full in the face, with a smile of sweet 
affection upon her lips, saluted him with the endear- 
ing cry of ^'' jpa^aP The child had apparently slept 
well, and exhibited no signs of suffering, although the 
night had been chilly and cold. When the child was 
restored to the arms of its mother, sprightly and 
cheerful, her sighs of agony were turned to tears of 
joy. Indeed, the sturdy hunters and hardy axemen, 
who witnessed the scene could not refrain from 
weeping. 

AN INCIDENT. 

The first settlers were not exempt from accidents, 
any more than the people of these days. Steam boil- 
ers did not explode then, nor the cars run off the track, 
but many a man has been crushed to atoms by falling 
trees, or killed by the unlucky glancing of an axe. 

In the fall of 1791, a Mr. Palmer, and his eon, a 
youth of sixteen years of age, went into the woods 
to cliop, for the purpose of making a clearing. 
Sometime in the afternoon, they felled a tree, and as 
it struck the ground, it bounded, swung around and 
caught the young man under it. The father at once 
mounted the log, cut it off, and liberated his son. 



238 TRIALS OF BOEDER LIFE. 

Upon examination, one of liis lower limbs was found 
to be badly crushed and mangled. He thereupon 
carried the youth to his log hut, close at hand, and 
with all possible diligence, made haste to his nearest 
neighbors, some three or four miles distant, desiring 
them to go and minister to his son's necessities, while 
he should go to Whitestown, fifty miles distant, for a 
surojeon. The nei2:hbors sallied forth with such com- 
fortable things as they thought might be acceptable 
in such a case ; but amidst the confusion, the dense 
forest, and the darkness of the night, which had just 
set in, they missed their way, and after wandering 
about for a long time, gave over pursuit and returned 
home, leaving the poor sufferer to his fate. Early 
next morning, all hands again rallied, and in due time 
found the young man, suffering the most extreme an- 
guish from his mangled limb, and greatly benumbed 
with cold. They built a fire, made him comfortable 
with such palliatives as could be procured in the wil- 
derness, and waited with patience the return of the 
parent. In the mean time he had proceeded raj^idly 
on his journey on foot, and succeeded in finding a sur- 
geon, as he had anticipated, at Whitestown. Here, 
he engaged an Oneida Indian to pilot them through 
the woods, by a nearer route than to follow the wind- 
inofs of the road. The suro-eon and Mr. Palmer were 
at sundry times fearful the Indian would lose the way, 
and at every expression of doubt on their part, the 
Indian would exclaim, '''•Me Icnow ! " and told them 
he would bring them out at a certain log which lay 



TRIALS OF BORDEli LIFE. 239 

across the outlet, at the foot of Otisco Lake. Tlie In- 
dian took the lead, and within forty-eight hours after 
the accident happened, the Indian brought them ex- 
actly to the log, exclaiming, triumphantly, " Me 
know." Here Mr. Palmer arrived on familiar ground, 
and at once proceeded to the cabin where he had left 
his son, whom they found greatly prostrated, and 
writhing under the most intense suffering. 'No time 
was lost. The case- was thought desperate — the limb 
was amputated at once, half way from the knee to 
the thigh. The youth bore the pain with heroic for- 
titude, recovered, and lived many years afterwards. 

A SCENE OF SUFFEKLNG. 

In 1791, Mr. John Thayer undertook the journey 
from Salina to Fort Brewerton, twelve miles distant. 
It being winter, the undertaking w^as somewhat haz- 
ardous ; but possessing a resolute mind and a hardy 
constitution, he thought he could overcome all obsta- 
cles. He was directed to follow the Indian trail and 
blazed trees, but during his journey he became be- 
wildered, lost his way, and roamed about the woods 
three days and two nights, without shelter or food. 
He at last struck the Oneida River several miles west 
of the fort, and in attempting to cross on the ice, broke 
through, got his feet and legs wet, and before he ar- 
rived at the place of his destination, his feet were 
badly frozen. He suffered severely for several weeks, 
when his feet began to gangrene. He was then con- 
veyed to Dr. White, of Cherry Valley, on a hand- 



240 TKIALS OF BORDEK LIFE. 

sled, where both limbs were amputated above the 
ankles. Five years ago he was alive, and hale, for 
one so advanced in years, at Palermo, Oswego county, 
apparently cheerful and haj^py, hobbling around on 
his- stumps. 

These reminiscences of a past age, though perhaps 
of little interest of themselves, nevertheless, are ex- 
amples of privation, suffering and distress incident to 
pioneer life in this country, as it was sixty years ago. 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

****** « Damned spirits all. 
That in cross-ways and floods have burial, 
Already to their wormy beds have gone , 
For fear that day should look their shames upon ; 
They wilfully exile themselves from light, 
And must for aye consort with black-browed night." 

Shakspeare's Midsu77imer NigMs Dream. 

During the first few years in whicli the early pio- 
neers of this favored country were engaged in clear- 
ing away the sturdy forests, and in laying broad and 
deep the foundations of a nation's prosperity and great- 
ness, a sentiment extensively i)revailed, that at some 
previous time, either the Spaniards, French or Dutch 
held possession here, and upon their abandonment of 
the country, had with secrecy concealed, en cache^ in 
various places, large amounts of gold and silver. This 
opinion, embraced with eagerness by the ignorant, 
being widely spread, induced a set of rapacious ad- 
venturers, more intent upon gain than was lawful, to 
embark with ill-judged enthusiasm, upon a very 
questionable enterprise, although to themselves it 
might have looked reasonable, and foreshadowed a 
prospect of success. The numerous reports and con- 
versations respecting hidden treasures were confined 
K 16 



242 THE MONET DIGGERS. 

mainly to a set of idle, half-vagrant, half-clad, thrift- 
less, cabinless sort of fellows, always to be found 
abundantly on the borders of all new settlements, 
ever ready to engage in any scheme that would ef- 
fectually release them from care, relieve them from 
labor, and at the same time furnish aliment to their 
vagrant habits, with a little of the substantial things 
of life for present need and actual subsistence. 

The precise localities were confidently named by 
many of the stanchest believers in the delusion. 
These extended from the eastern part of the town of 
Manlius, through Pompey and Onondaga to Camillus 
and other towns. Several places were selected for 
operations, and the initiated set to work with as much 
earnestness as if the hidden wealth of the world was 
to be exhumed by their exertions. A secret associa- 
tion was formed for the purpose of facilitating their 
operations and of ensuring success, from among the 
regular ''hush wliackers^^ of Manlius and Pompey. 
The leaders in this organization furnished themselves 
with " mineral rods, wands, spears," spades, shovels, 
iron bars, &c., and thus equipped, they seemed bet- 
ter prepared for the trade of resurrectionists than for 
any legitimate business. Hundreds of holes were 
dug in different places where their mysterious " di- 
vining rods " pointed out the exact spot where the 
glittering gold and shining silver were deposited. 
Incantations and enchantments were frequently made 
use of to mislead and delude the ignorant, simple, gul- 
lible believers in this miserable, detestable delusion. 



THE IklONEY DIGGERS. 243 

Many strange tricks of legerdemain and other decep- 
tive arts were practiced in order to attacli a kind of 
mysterious importance to their nefarious schemes, 
and to inspire tlie doubting with confidence and the 
confiding with hope. Their work was always con- 
ducted in the dead of night, and with the most pro- 
found secrecy. Every possible, plausible stimulant 
was applied, in order to magnify and heighten the 
prospects of success. One of the grand secrets of the 
craft was, that in digging, one of the gifted in this 
species of astrology must keep a strict watch, so that 
there should be no interruption from intruders. In- 
terruption was for the time a perfect annihilation of 
all hope. At the same time this dignified personage 
gave directions relative to the mode of operations, 
occasionally ofi*ering words of encouragement. Every 
thing that passed, relative to money digging, was re- 
ferred to him, and the work was pursued exactly by 
his direction. To him every impediment to their suc- 
cessful progress was supposed to be foreknown, and 
by him was every difiiculty explained, every unfa- 
vorable suspicion removed, every mystery solved, 
and every doubt cleared up. If in the breast of 
any, lingered a single fear or apprehension, all were 
removed and quietly settled by reference to, and 
application of, a certain '^ Qnivaculoics stone^^'^ Vfhich. 
constituted an important part of his necroman- 
tic apparatus. Through its mysterious divinings, 
confidence was inspired, activity was excited, zeal in- 
creased, and labor encouraged in a manner perfectly 



244 THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

incomprehensible in the line of legitimate business. 
The modus operandi with the stone, was like this. 
When a question came up that required consultation 
" with spirits of the vasty deep," beyond the confines 
of this world, recourse was at once had to the stone. 
It was placed inside of a hat, and that was removed 
to a darkened room, where the conjurer buried his 
face in the hat, and in total darkness pretended to 
see everything connected with money digging, and 
also, throuo^h its wonderful instrumentalitv was ena- 
bled to foretell future events. Many very astonish- 
ins: thino-s have been told and believed of these 
pretended "gifted seers," through the medium of to- 
tal darkness and the " magic stone.''^ Upon his re- 
turn, the conjurer with an air of perfect wisdom and 
mystery, related his astonishing visions of " pots " of 
glittering coin, " chests " of dollars and doubloons, 
massive " bars " of silver, and " weighty ingots " of 
gold, all of which would surely be the reward of their 
labor if they steadily persevered and imj)licitly 
obeyed. Many believed these foolish tales, and res- 
olutely continued their nightly work, notwithstanding 
their toil was unrequited. By such false and delu- 
sive practices, these misguided men were stimulated 
to unwearied exertions, which, had they been put 
forth in a worthier cause, would have ensured them 
the gold, thus sought in vain. They were, however, 
led on by false, illusive re^Dresentations, till their ex- 
pectations were raised to the highest point. Another 
imperative injunction to be strictly observed was, that 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 245 

while at work, the person engaged was not to look 
up, upon pain of expulsion from the association. The 
strongest denunciations of the fraternity followed, if 
such person for an instant removed his eye from the 
spot where the supposed treasure lay. During all 
their operations the most profound silence was to be 
observed. If a word was spoken or an eye lifted 
from the work, the treasure was sure to vanish. A 
system of signs was in use for the safety of the craft, 
and only the truly initiated were presumed to under- 
stand them. Any breach of the true observance of 
the signs or rules of the fraternity, rendered useless 
all former labors. Instances were not wanting where 
the watchman, after the delver was well nigh ex- 
hausted, saw undoubted signs of " the pot ^^ and when 
the prize was just witliin his grasp, the thoughtless 
dupe would look off, the rich reward would vanish, and 
thus were their prospects in that spot destroyed for- 
ever. JSTeighborhoods were kept on the qui vive^ by 
lights that were frequently seen dodging about the 
cleared fields, the thick woods and underbrush, and 
by multifarious excavations made in sundry places 
throughout the country. These were common ap- 
pearances in those early days. Old men marveled, 
old women wondered, and children yawned, sighed, 
and held their breaths at the recital of the strange 
tales of the ^' Money Diggers.'''' 

Notwithstanding the better portion of community 
heartily denounced the doings of these grossly delu- 
ded men, yet, they were not looked upon with that 



246 THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

extreme horror and disgust wliicli would have totally 
annihilated all their nefarious schemes. Many grave 
and otherwise sensible men thought "it might be 
true," or, " there was something in it." 

An old man, whose name need not be mentioned, 
was deeply involved in everything connected with 
these mysterious practices. He professed to be a sort 
of pyrotechnic alchemist, and became the principal 
leader in all their ill-advised plans. "With others no 
less tinctured with this superstitious belief than him- 
self, he proceeded night after night to dig for money. 
One of the singularities of the craft, was the syste- 
matic arrangement of every article of their appara- 
tus, with an air of the most profound mysteriousness 
and consequence, so as to make the most sensible 
impression. 

The '-'"inineral rods^^ were composed of two round 
pieces of whalebone about eighteen inches long, con- 
fined at one end by a silken cord. Over this, cov- 
ered with a silken bag, was distributed a fine powder 
resembling red precipitate, in which were mingled 
innumerable globules of quicksilver and several small 
goose-quills charged with gunpowder and particles of 
quicksilver. A piece of fine buckskin firmly tied on 
with a cord of silk, covered the whole, except about a 
foot left for the handles. The "j^rc^^" was a long 
iron rod, pointed with steel, about four feet long. It 
was kept enclosed in a long, wooden tube, and ordi- 
narily answered the purpose of a staff. In addition, 
they possessed an " eye glass,^^ purporting to be a val- 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 24:7 

uable diamond. These, with the " magic stone,''^ 'werQ 
indispensable in all money-seeking operations. With 
the glass, all the precious metals could be distinctly 
seen, when near the surface of the earth. But when 
at a great depth, the never-failing ''' magic stone'''' had 
to be applied, which was sure to bring to light the 
deepest and darkest of the hidden mysteries. 

The " rods " were carried by a handle in each hand. 
The united ends, containing the quicksilver and other 
things, were raised in a perpendicular position up- 
wards, and thus the operator moved over the ground 
supposed to contain the precious treasures. When 
arrived at a favorable spot, the heavy end of the rod 
fell gently down, as if drawn by some attractive in- 
fluence concealed below, and thus, to a designing 
hand and morbid imagination, had the appearance 
of designating with the nicest precision the true posi- 
tion of rich stores of gold and silver deposited be- 
neath. Recourse was then had to the ^'"probe^^ which 
was thrust into the ground, and thus it was decided 
whether or not the ground had ever been previously 
disturbed. Tlien the ^"^ glass " was applied, and often- 
times the treasures were reported to be actually seen 
but a few feet below the surface. The earth was 
then carefully removed, but if the foregoing tests 
failed, then the " miraculous stone " Avas consulted, 
which almost universally confirmed all previous indi- 
cations. This proof was considered positive, and no 
further evidence was wanting to substantiate the 
£act. 



248 ' THE MONEY DIGGEES. 

In addition to these appliances, there was one other 
expedient in cases of extreme difficulty sometimes re- 
sorted to, in order, as they alleged, " to hreak the en- 
chantment.^'^ After an excavation had been com- 
menced, and the " glass " and " stone '* had been re- 
sorted to and inquired of, and report thereon favora- 
bly made, in order to make assurance doubly sure, 
six black hens were brought to the place at midnight 
precisely — a minute too early or too late was disas- 
trous — and there decapitated and the blood sprinkled 
all about the cavity. This ceremony was considered 
indispensable on certain occasions, esi3ecially when 
the spirits of the principal laborers began to flag, for 
without the shedding of blood there was no certainty 
of a favorable issue. This sacrifice, partaking not a 
little of heathenism, according to their belief had the 
effect certainly " to hreah the enchantment^^ remove 
all obstacles, and enable the laborer to proceed with 
uninterrupted success and renewed resolution. 

The initiated in these mysteries had prosecuted 
their nightly operations at intervals, for several years, 
without the least indication of success. This want of 
a favorable result in the prosecution of their labors, 
it was alleged by the j)rincipal conductor of their 
affairs, was attributable entirely to a lack of caution 
and want of strict adherence to the rules and injunc- 
tions laid down in the outset, for the better and more 
successful management of affairs. From constant 
failure and disappointment, some began to despair, 
and to mutter curses on those whom they began to 



THE MONET DIGGEKS. 249 

suspect were leading them astray. Li order to aronse 
the flagging spirits of the desponding crew, a new 
expedient was resolved upon, which promised excite- 
ment at least, and to the projectors of the scheme it 
seemed, if successfully carried through, would be a 
means of cementing more firmly than ever the bonds 
of their confederation. In order to illustrate the 
blind infatuation of these deluded men, we give in 
detail the history of this singular and barbarous trans- 
action. For a long time their labors had not been 
crowned with favorable results, and although certain 
indications were alleged to be propitious, still, there 
had been no lifting of ]yots filled with golden ingots, 
or chests laden with jingling dollars, or hoxes bur- 
dened with massive bai« of uncoined metal. 

On a time, when appearances seemed to assume a 
more favorable aspect than usual in their diggings, 
in order to insure complete success, and more firmly 
to cement the bond of brotherhood anions: them, it 
was resolved to make a midnight propitiatory sacrifice. 
In order to impress the solemnity of the ceremony 
more vividly upon the minds of all concerned, every 
money-digger tliroughout the country was invited to 
attend. A large gathering was had, and secret pre- 
paration made for the coming rites. An altar of 
wood was prepared of rails, stakes, brush, and other 
combustible materials, ready for the application of 
fire. The intended victim (a black patriarch of the 
flock) had been kept secretly imprisoned for several 
days, in anticipation of the approaching event. All 



250 TITE MONEY DIGGERS. 

tilings being in readiness, a midnight procession was 
formed of the motley, medley mass of sans culottes^ 
who had assembled to participate in the ceremonies. 
The sable patriarch was dnly led forth to the rude 
pile, bound, and in helpless misery laid upon the gath- 
ered heap. With the vilest mock solemnity the fatal 
pyre was lighted. The glowing flames curled and 
circled around the prostrate victim, the flaxen cords 
that held his sinewy limbs were quickly severed, by 
an extraordinary efl*ort he freed himself from his toils, 
leaped from the burning pile, and in his course, tilted 
over several of his tormentors by successive butts 
from his ponderous forehead, and with a lively parting 
salutation from his heels, he bade a final adieu to the 
despicable coterie who had, iii-«tupid amazement, wit- 
nessed his confinement and escape. The grand mas- 
ter of ceremonies had been put hors dr comhat^ by 
the battering front of the frightened animal in his 
flight, and while those who remained unharmed were 
attending to their overthrown companions, and were 
sympathizing with them on account of their wounds 
and bruises, the light of the burning pile had been 
discovered by some of the settlers not in the plot, 
who forthwith aroused the neighborhood, and speed- 
ily the available force of the vicinity sallied forth to 
make a rcconnoissance. It was previously known 
that the money diggers would on this particular 
night have a large meeting for some special and im- 
portant purpose, and some had obtained a clue to 
their principal proceedings. It was resolved to ap- 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 251 

proach them stealthily, and give them a most thor- 
ough frightening. In order to do so the more effect- 
ually, the party disposed themselves so as completely 
to surround the fire and encircle the alien crew, with- 
out their being aware of discovery or discomfiture. 
Sufficient time being allowed for the gathering of the 
hostile party to their proper places, at a preconcerted 
signal a general shout was raised. The money dig- 
gers were taken completely by surprise, and being 
entirely off their guard, could not conjecture the 
cause of this sudden and unexpected intrusion from 
unknown, unseen, invisible foes. After thoroughly 
frightening these redoubtable heroes of the money 
chests and mineral rods, by uncouth noises, the whole 
party made a simultaneous rush upon the terrified 
delinquents, who could be plainly recognized around 
the glowing fire. Pell-mell the advancing party, 
amidst the rustling of dry leaves and bushes, and the 
crashing of broken brushwood, rushed tumultuously 
upon the alarmed and discomfited group of hedged- 
up money diggers, scattering the remains of the 
burning brands liberally among them. Tlie ignorant, 
churlish, defeated, routed marauders, finding their 
plans completely frustrated by an untimely discovery, 
immediately dispersed in the most disorderly trepi- 
dation and alarm, and from tlienceforth abandoned 
entirely their operations in that neighborhood. 

The labors of these deluded men being thusoincer- 
emoniously interrupted, and their movements becom- 
ing generally known and disapproved by the better 



252 THE MONEY DIGGEKS. 

portion of community, and there being little cliance 
for a successful renewal of their wicked schemes, the 
scene of their operations was changed. They chose 
as a place of general rendezvous, a large cave near 
the east line of the town of Onondaga, in the high 
limestone ledge a little north of the " Old Genesee 

Road^'' on land subsequently owned by Dr. B , 

and more recently by J B , Esq. Here they 

established their head-quarters, proclaimed that they 
had discovered a silver mine in the vicinity, and their 
ability and intention to work it. As heretofore, their 
mining operations were conducted in the night. The 
rich ores of the mines, however abundant, were not 
designed for the light of day, or for the scrutiny of 
any but the thoroughly initiated. All their nefarious 
business was carried on with the most studied myste- 
riousness and profound secrecy. On one occasion it 
was given out that a pot of money had been actually 
found. As an assurance of this, the reputed contents 
were distributed among those who were in the secret, 
which of course added vastly to the consequence and 
importance of money digging, for it was something 
tangible — " the real silver coin dug ujpP It has been 
said, however, that this money was paid in, and much 
more, for the privilege of shares in the profits to arise 
from the prosecution of the enterprise, and then so 
placed at certain points as to be found by the money 
diggers. Whether there was any truth in this asser- 
tion or not, the finding of ''^ real silver coin''^ had the 
efi'ect to give confidence to those who were in doubt. 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 258 

to confirm the vacillating, and to renew the rapa- 
city of all. 

The cheat (if it was one) succeeded well, and pre- 
cisely answered the purpose intended. It greatly in- 
creased the cupidity of every one desirous of enlarg- 
ing the general stock. It awakened a slumbering 
excitement which had long been quiet for want of 
proper aliment to sustain it. New recruits were 
daily added to the deluded horde. The motley con- 
federates continually gained strength, and all their 
movements assumed an air of consequence and im- 
portance. Massive bars of silver were reputed to have 
been seen at the cave. A coining establishment was 
said to be set up there, and large quantities of the 
precious metals were transformed from the crudS ore, 
to the round and shining currency of the country (in 
resemblance.) 

On a particular occasion, when a number of work- 
men were busily engaged in excavating a trench for 
the purpose of conveying water through bored logs, 
a stranger approached them on horseback, and said, 
" JN'ot many feet from the place where you are dig- ' 
ging, lies the skeleton of a man who was buried there 
many years ago, by a company of miners who suc- 
cessfully carried on the business near here, at that 
time." He further remarked, that the land in that 
vicinity contained treasures of which they little 
dreamed, and that the owners had better not dispose 
of it, as immense fortunes were in store for those who 
continued to hold their lands. Words like these from 



254: THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

the lips of a^ stranger, and the finding the bones of 
a man as he had informed them, gave a new impe- 
tus to money-digging. These facts from a foreign 
source, greatly enhanced the value of the information 
relative to the existence of precious metals in the 
neighborhood. It was now set down as a sure thing, 
that they actually did exist, and it only required con- 
tinued perseverance and industry, to ascertain their 
true locality. With renewed hope and untiring en- 
ergy, the work of the money diggers was continued. 
Excitement for a time could scarcely be restrained. 
The subject was discussed by everybody. The late 
California gold fever would bear no comparison to it. 
Eut after a while the excitement gradually exhausted 
itself. It grew less and less as it was duly consid- 
ered. . And the more the matter was investigated, the 
more unlikely and chimerical it appeared. Of course, 
there were many designing ones, who most pertina- 
ciously held on to their first proclaimed opinions, and 
obstinately continued in their old ha])its, which, by 
long continuance had become confirmed, and un- 
doubtedly their belief was established by long adhe- 
rence to a single course of thought. But for all this, 
the silver, at that time so much a cause of excitement, 
remains to this day, for aught w^e know, as much a 
hidden mystery as ever. 

The money diggers, as might have been supposed, 
were not more successful in their midnight underta- 
kings here, than they had been in their former lo- 
cality, and the demonstrations made of renovated or 



THE MONEY DIGGEKS. 255 

recovered wealth, by no means warranted the conclu- 
sion that they had really been successful to any great 
extent. With all their vaunted success and boasted 
prosperity, they to a man remained poor, and the real 
evidences of wealth, whatever the truth might be, 
were always a wide way back in the shade. 

Failing, as it is most certain they did, in all their 
schemes of exploration and discovery, a new plan was 
at length projected, an entire new system of opera- 
tions adopted, which promised a richer harvest, and 
a more certain remuneration of their labors. 

Throughout the township of Pompey there were 
extensive Indian burying grounds, and in many of 
the graves were deposited articles of considerable 
value. In some instances the amount might exceed 
eight or ten dolhirs. These articles consisted mainly 
of rings, silver ornaments, co^^per trinkets, brass ket- 
tles, gun barrels, hatchets, knives, relics of bows and 
arrows, charred corn and beans, and sucli other good 
things as it was thought the warrior might need on 
his journey to the Elysium of the brave, where he 
should forever tread the eternal hunting grounds of 
the Great Spirit amidst abundance of game, in the 
full tide of plenty. 

For a long time these heartless men followed their 
unhallowed calling, unquestioned and unmolested. At 
length the Indians, who liave the most sacred reve- 
rence for the sepulchres of their dead, hearing of the 
desecration of their ancient and time-honored places 
of burial, and the disinterment of the bones of tlieir 



256 THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

fathers and kindred, and the sacrilegious use those 
impious hands made of the simple articles religiously 
deposited with their honored dead, became exaspera- 
ted, enraged and alarmed at the audacity of the ma- 
rauders, and the reckless determination with which 
they sought their plunder. 

In secret council it was resolved to take summary 
vengeance for injuries received. Before proceeding 
to extremities, the chiefs thought it expedient to give 
intimation to the leaders in these grave robberies, that 
they must desist from their more than savage barbar- 
ities, or they would soon suffer the consequences. 
The grave robbers heeded not the wholesome hints so 
kindly suggested, nor dreamed that danger followed 
an Indian's threat. Notwithstanding this seasonable 
admonition, they continued their wicked works as 
earnestly as ever. The mercenary wretches had as 
little regard for the grave of an Indian, as they would 
have had for the lair of a wild beast. At length, be- 
coming wearied by the ineffectual use of peaceful 
means to stop further operations, and being goaded 
almost to madness by the hardihood and recklessness 
of these despoilers of the sacred depositories of their 
dead, the Indians resolved forthwith to take summary 
vengeance in a way which could not be mistaken. 

They secretly entered upon the project of firing, 
at the same hour, every hay and grain stack (there 
being few barns in those days) throughout the settle- 
ment. Accordingly, on a Saturday night in the month 
of August, in the year 1798, after the abundant crops 



THE MONET DIGGERS. 257 

of hay and grain had been secured, and the riches 
of a plentiful harvest had been estimated and relied 
upon for payments due upon lands then recently pur- 
chased, the inhabitants were aroused in the dead of 
night from their slumbers, by the appalling cry of 
^^ Fire I fire! fire!^^ Upon looking about, fires 
were seen in every direction, lighting the sky with 
their brilliant glare, annihilating with fearful rapidity 
the gathered harvest of the husbandman, and rapidly 
reducing the labors of the year to a heap of ashes. 
The glowing brand had been applied with unerring 
fatality, and the sun which had sunk to rest in joy 
and gladness upon an abundant harvest, arose on the 
following morning, in gloom and sadness upon heaps 
of black, smoking, accumulated ruins. Upon investi- 
gation it was ascertained, that only those who had par- 
ticipated in, or countenanced the depredations upon 
Indian graves, had been sufferers. Their neighbors, 
to a man, were safe. The source of the destruction 
of so much valuable property was clearly traced to 
the Indians, though no direct proof could be obtained. 
Application was formally made to the leading chiefs 
of the Onondaga Nation for an explanation of the al- 
leged outrage. After a patient hearing of all aggra- 
vated points of the grievances complained of, the 
principal chief returned a most laconic and probably 
a most satisfactory reply. Fixing his piercing eyes 
full upon the complainants, with the utmost sa^ig 
froid and gentle naivete,, lie gravely remarked, " You 
dig up no more dead Indian, no more will your stacks 

17 



258 THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

be burned." The grave desecrators felt the keen re- 
buke with chagrin and discomfiture, and sensible of 
their inability to obtain satisfaction in that quarter, 
concluded to submit with as good a grace as possible 
to their loss. Common prudence dictated to them, 
that it would be far better to forbear a rej^etition of 
offenses, than to incur the further displeasure of an 
irritated and highly exasperated j)eople. 

These were the last important events connected 
with the money diggers and grave robbers. A small 
portion, including the baser sort, those who had been 
most active and determined in this unhallowed busi- 
ness, knowing that their presence was not congenial 
to a spot which had long been the chief theatre of 
their operations, among a people, a large majority of 
whom looked with disaj)probation and disgust upon 
their works, left for distant parts unknown. The bet- 
ter portion, becoming fully satisfied of the unlawful- 
ness and folly of their course, very sensibly deter- 
mined to turn their whole attention to agriculture and 
other legitimate occupations, and many of them be- 
came good and thrifty citizens, repudiating to the ut- 
most their former pitiful and profitless career. 

Notwithstanding we occasionally he^r of a money 
digger in our own times, long since have passed aw^ay 
the days when our grandfathers, who were well ac- 
quainted with thoroughly organized bauds of these 
treasure-seekers all over the country, related to us 
their exciting tales of the Money Diggers. 



THE BEAR CHASE. 

"So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear 
Full in the gaj), and hopes the hunted bear ; 
And hears him in the rustling woods, and sees 
His course at distance by the bending trees, 
And thinks — Here comes my mortal enemy, 
And either he must fall in fight or I. 

Drtden's Palamon and Arcite. 

In the early history of the country, the pioneers of 
the new settlements were often annoyed by wolves 
and bears. The latter, however, seldom made their 
attacks upon man ; yet, being neither Mussulmen nor 
Jews, they made no scruple of taking to themselves, 
as necessity seemed to demand, the stray pigs of the 
hardy woodmen, to satisfy the cravings of appetite. 
Numerous instances might be relaied of the boldness 
and sagacity of these nocturnal adventurers in search 
of their prey, and of the watchfulness and courage 
displayed by the settlers in defending and recover- 
ing their property, and in dispatching the grim 
marauders. 

One incident out of a thousand of like character 
which we have heard related, may be sufficient to 
show the audacity and boldness of the wild bear in 
his native haunts, once so common and so trouble- 
some, and the trials, resolution, and rough sports of 



260 THE BEAR CHASE. 

those hardy men of a former generation, who cleared 
the woods awaj. 

As the country increased in population, and the 
lofty forests disappeared before the lusty strokes of 
the woodman's axe, the noxious beasts of prey unwil- 
lingly yielding the right of possession, gradually re- 
treated into the unbroken regions less frequented by 
man. 

In the town of Fabius, an old bear, unwilling to 
quit her former haunts, lingered about the neighbor- 
hood, always apparently ready to dispute the title to 
occupancy with her sworn enemies, with more obsti- 
nacy and tenacity than her more timorous associates. 
Ko one knew the whereabouts of her den, but it was 
clearly ascertained that every autumn she regularly 
returned to the scenes of her depredations, with at 
least a pair of cubs, who usually fell victims to the 
hunter's rage or the woodman's anger. But the old 
one was too wary to be entrapped, and too shy to be 
approached sufficiently near for a shot. 'Not unfre- 
quently did she sally forth under cover of night, when 
all was still, committing sundry depredations by car- 
rying off the younger members of the swine family, 
much to the annoyance of those settlers who univer- 
sally thought they stood more in need of, and better 
entitled to, pork of their own raising than her bear- 
ship. It was plain to be seen by the monstrous tracks 
left in the vicinity of her unwelcome visits, that she 
was no puny character, but must be one of the largest 
and most formidable of her race. Her robberies of 



THE BEAR CHASE. 2G1 

the sty at length became so bold and frequent, as to 
be no longer endurable. 

A consultation of the neighboring woodmen was 
held, with a view of adopting measures for ridding 
the country of a pest so obnoxious. It was resolved 
that lie next time she should be found engaged in 
another of her thievish tricks, it should be the signal 
for a general onslaught and determined war of exter- 
mination. Soon after this, there came a heavy fall 
of snow, and Bruin probably considering this a sol- 
emn admonition that it would soon be time for her to 
burrow for the winter, and not having heard of this 
murderous declaration, so sensibly affecting her wel- 
fare, and "without fear of the statute on larcenies, she 
sallied forth one night, entered the sty of a poor man, 
and feloniously took therefrom a stately porker which 
the owner had intended to slaughter in a few days, to 
supply the necessities of his family for the approach- 
ing winter. 

The family had retired at an early hour, and ere the 
lull of balmy sleep had entirely absorbed the recol- 
lections of the past, and nature's sweet restorer was 
just on the verge of that quiescent state, vacillating 
between the pleasures of happy dreams and nervous 
"wakefulness, they were all most unceremoniously 
aroused from their pleasant reveries by a terrible 
commotion among the pigs. 

Instantly every member of the family was on the 
qui vive. Madame, en chemise^ with her honnet de 
nuit fluttering in the breeze, popped her head out at 



262 THE BEAR CHASE. 

the window, and in the wildest excitement exclaimed, 
" A bear ! a bear ! " 

The gallant man, amidst the most inconsiderate 
confusion, drew on his boots sans culotte, seized his 
gun, which unfortunately was not charged, rushed out 
at the door ready to do battle to the utmost — tfee wife 
and little ones bringing up the rear at a respectful 
distance. 

Just as the frightened party came within sight of 
the pig-pen. Bruin had seized and held in her rude 
embrace a fat pig of about two hundred pounds 
weight, and was bravely tugging to get over the en- 
closure, and very soon she accomplished her purpose 
in spite of the yells and screams of the rightful 
guardians. 

IsTothing daunted, the bear marched off on her 
hinder feet, erect, bearing her ill-gotten booty as 
composedly as could be, in spite of the bewildered 
man and his agonized family, leaving them to console 
themselves as best they could, she being determined 
to keep the pig in her own possession. As discretion 
is ever considered the better part of valor, the family 
most prudently decided no further to contest the field, 
and retreated within the walls of their rude tenement, 
with feelings of no little mortification and chagrin. 
J It was little slumber that visited the eyelids of the 
highly exasperated family during the remainder of 
that night, and with the morning's breaking light, 
the neighboring settlers were made acquainted with 
the foregoing facts. 



THE BEAR CHASE. 263 

The circumstances were no sooner known abroad. 



than the whole male population of the community to 
a man, rallied with a full determination to carry out 
their previous edict. 

" That done, awhile they made a halt, 
To view the ground and where t' assault. 
Then call a council, which was best, 
By siege or onslaught to invest 
The enemy ; and 't was agreed 
By storm and onslaught to proceed." 

Arming themselves with guns, axes, pitchforks, 
butcher-knives, and clubs, they called to their aid all 
the boys and dogs of the neighborhood, and set out 
upon the track, which, in the deep snow, was every- 
where made visible and plain. They soon started 
her bearship from her hiding place ; but whether she 
thought she should find a less barbarous or more con- 
genial people in a more northern town, or whether 
she chose to change " the venue^'' as the lawyers call 
it, for a more impartial trial, is not known ; at all 
events, whatever her motives, she set off with all 
possible speed towards Pompey Hill. 

" O'er hedge and lands, through pools and ponds." 

The struggle was a well contested one, and attended 
on the way with frequent skirmishes, more especially 
so between the bear and the dogs. But in these the 
bear always had the best of the battle, having re- 
pulsed the dogs in every instance of their attack ; and 
whenever she gave one a fair slap in the foce with 



264: THE BEAR CHASE. 

lier huge paw, lie was at once placed hors dr combat^ 
and was glad to escape with life. Had it not been 
for fresh auxiliaries of the canine race that joined in 
the hue and cry, as the noisy crowd rushed along 
through the meager settlement, and that had not been 
engaged in the general melee^ the chase would have 
been abandoned in the beginning, for there would not 
have been a dog in the country that could have been 
urged up to barking distance of the grim foe they 
were pursuing. During the chase, many a valiant 
heart which had beat high with brilliant hopes of 
certain conquest in the outset, gave in, being totally 
unable to keep up in the unequal race 

" With others that pursued the chase 
But found himself left far behind, 
Both out of heart and out of wind; 
Grieved to behold the bear pursued 
So basely by a multitude ; 
And like to fall, not by the prowess, 
Bat numbers of his coward foes." 

The route taken by the bear was rather zigzag than 
circuitous, and she turned some very short corners to 
prevent being captured. But the chase waxed so 
hot, and Bruin became so pressed by the dogs, and 
so fatigued by running in the deep snow, that as a 
last resort she threw herself into the public highway, 
and took the beaten track on the " old Chenan2:o 
road," and redoubled her speed towards the village. 

"And now the cause of so much fear, 
By slow degrees approach'd so near, 



THE BEAR CHASE. 265 

They might distinguish different noise 
Of horns, and guns, and dogs, and boys." 

"What particular object or motive the bear had in 
going to Pompej Hill none could determine ; but as 
slie approached the outskirts of the village, the bark- 
i g of dogs, the shouting of men, and the wild cry 
Ci the bo3'S, greatly alarmed the inhabitants, and 
caused them to think that Bedlam itself had broken 
loose. The people sallied forth en masse to ascertain 
the subject of this confusion, when to their utter con- 
sternation and horror they discovered the foaming 
and angry bear, dashing on at full speed, with terri- 
ble fury, into their very midst. All was confusion 
and alarm. The women called in their children and 
barred the doors, while the men, more valiant, deter- 
mined to share in the conquest. 

Among the gallant citizens most conspicuous in the 
fray, was one whose name, we are sorry to say, has 
not been transmitted to the present generation. Nev- 
ertheless, he was a man having authorit}^, being no 
less a personage than deputy sheriff, constable, and 
what else we know not. At this time he carried in 
his breast pocket a large pocket-book, containing an 
enormous bundle of papers, snch as officers of like 
character were wont to carry in those days. This 
man, at the head of his posse coinitatus, stood ready 
to arrest the old bear as she entered the villaire. 
Whether he had legal process for the bear, or whether 
the arrest was to be made under the act relative to 



266 THE I3E-ill CHASE. 

fugitives from labor or from justice, we heave not been 
informed ; but lie met tbe adversary like a brave 
man, determined to do his duty at all hazards, regard- 
less of consequences. Bruin either doubted his juris- 
diction, or disregarding the lav7 against resisting the 
service of process in the hands of a proper executive 
officer, rose upon her hind feet the moment she was 
tapped on the shoulder, and seizing said sheriff within 
his own bailiwick, gave him one tremendous hug to 
her furry bosom, brought him instantly to the gronnd, 
grabbed him by the side, and doubtless would have 
killed him, had it not happened that when she closed 
her month, this huge pocket-book came exactly be- 
tween her teeth, and prevented the polished ivory 
from entering his body further than to inflict a severe 
flesh wound. The bear seemed determined to show 
blood to the death, for she held fast and continued 
her grip till another man approached with an axe, 
who dealt a heavy blow, driving the edge full into 
the monster's brain, which settled her bearship's pro- 
pensity for further bellicose operations. Thus was a 
valuable civil officer rescued from an unpleasant and 
perilous situation, and thus the ferocious beast was 
slain, amidst the shouts and exultations of the victors. 
This occurrence took place more than fifty years 
ago, and many are yet living who have heard the 
facts from the lips of those who participated in the 
affair, who have handed the story down to those of 
the present generation, although they have most all 
of them been long since gathered to their fathers. In 



THE BEAK CHASE. 267 

all its essential particulars the story is true, and may 
serve to show some of the trials, difficulties and dan- 
gers encountered by the early settlers of this favored 
country, and teach us to set a higher estimate upon 
their worth and labors. 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 

"Oh! oil! Dear gentlemen ! Oh I for heaven's sake ; I am, a 
phj^sician, and an apothecary, too, if you '11 have me. Though, per- 
haps I am deceived myself, and am a physician without knowing it. 
I had rather be anything than be knocked on the head." 

Fielding's Mock Doctor. 

In the early part of our country's history, the hardy 
pioneers, though honest to a fault and purely patri- 
otic in their motives, were not always over scrupulous 
in the manner of correcting the social evils of com- 
munity. By taking the administration of justice into 
their own hands, especially when by the continuance 
of evil, the feeble were left defenseless and the worthy 
were to suffer, they expected to enforce a more speedy 
and effectual redress of grievances than by the more 
tedious and tardy process of law. 

In the year 1803, there came to the township of 
Fabius a young man of fair personal appearance and 
rather pompous address. He professed to be an emi- 
nent physician and surgeon, and made himself noto- 
rious at once by a mysterious display of high-sound- 
ing words and technical i^hrases, pecidiar to the pro- 
fession. He also made quite a flourish in examining 
into the land claims and title deeds of settlers, and 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 269 

consequential demonstrations of laying out a large, 
spare capital in the purchase of military bounty lands, 
having a particular regard to the location somewhere, 
of a valuable six hundred acre lot for a homestead, 
so that he might permanently and advantageously 
establish himself as a farmer on a large scale, in con- 
nection with the practice of medicine. 

This announcement was indeed glad tidings to the 
new settlers, for there was no doctor at that time 
within ten miles. As may be readily supposed, the 
arrival of so distinguished a character, created a won- 
derful sensation throughout all the country round. 
Besides, it went abroad, that not only a doctor had 
come to town, but a rich one, and of course he must 
be talented. In f\ict, nothing could hardly have hap- 
pened to occasion more general joy. The soi disant 
doctor found no difficulty in procuricg a good log 
house, and very comfortable quarters in one of the 
oldest settled, and most respectable families in the ^ 
township, with whom he made an agreement for 
board, and for the use of a horse. This he said was 
to be a mere temporary arrangement, to last only 
till he could order on such things as were necessary 
to settle himself in the dignified manner, which all 
along he intimated he should do. Matters passed on 
for several weeks without the least distrust on the 
part of the confiding settlers, who took everything 
the doctor related, for truth. They, every man and 
woman of them, believed him to be a " real doctor; " 
for then the intolerable swarm of 'pathies had not 



270 THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 

made their appearance, and if tliey had, the plain, 
sterling, common sense people of those times, Avould 
have starved out the whole caravan of them, long 
before the nse of their long list of '^ hills^ cures and no- 
tions ; ])lasteTS^ 2^^^^^^ and potions ; washes^ drops and 
lotions^'' could have so far deranged their physical 
organization as to render them insensible of harm, or 
incapable of action. Our hero was believed to be a 
veritable " 'pothecary doctor," a " regular book man,' 
as " good as Dr. Johnson or Dr. Franklin, any day." 
It is true, he sometimes administered decoctions of 
roots, and infusions of herbs, and recommended hem- 
lock sweats, all of which was right enough in the 
opinion of his patients, because such like simple pre- 
scriptions were cheap, and within everybody's reach. 
Besides, they always answered the purpose intended, 
and that was sufficient. Then he could " blister and 
bleed, and physic with weed, in time of need," and 
cure, at least help, all diseases, with his empirical 
boluses, and that was exactly what was most wanted. 
The doctor was rapidly building np a splendid repu- 
tation. He frequently rode around among the scat- 
tered settlers, inquiring after their health, at the same 
time making a great parade of his wealth and physic, 
neither of which, had lie much to boast of Things 
went on most charmingly for a long time. Still, the 
said doctor did not fulfill punctually all his engage- 
ments, i)rofessions and promises, relative to his pros- 
pects and property daily expected from Yermont. 
The matter was at length so long deferred, that some 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOK. 271 

of the wiser ones began to have little misgivings as 
to his ability to do as he had said most assuredly that 
he could. It was not long before significant whispers, 
sly winks and nods, began to be interchanged among 
the knowing ones, in doubtful consideration of the 
doctor's professional eldll and capacity, which were 
by no means indicative of esteem for the transcend- 
ent talents and approved practice which he had pro- 
fessed, and they had acknowledged and approved. 
It came to pass, that little children would mimic in de- 
rision the pomposity of the doctor ; and finally, grave 
matrons and blushing maidens conspired for his over- 
throw. Such a state of affairs, of course, could not 
be long endured, and matters were rapidly hastening 
to a crisis. Without going into a lengthened detail 
of the thousand and one circumstances that occurred 
between this personage and the people, during the 
period of a few months , it is sufficient to say, that 
enough came to light to convince every person in the 
settlements, that this same pretending doctor was not 
at all what he professed to be, but was everywhere 
accounted the sheerest quack — a regular humbug. 

The sequel proved that he had no education — was 
as green as the mountains from which he came — was 
as obstinate as a mule, as stupid as an ass, and at best, 
a coarse, vulgar ignoramus ; and all this was plain 
enough to be seen, now that everybody saw it. lie 
was not only perfectly disagreeable, but particularly 
dangerous to society in his false pretensions to being 
a doctor. The people could patiently have borne with 



272 THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 

his impositions respecting his pretended riches, but 
for one so ignorant and vile, to undertake to perform 
the responsible and delicate offices of a physician, 
was not to be brooked by the sturdy sons of l^ew 
England. Although they were poor, and endured 
patiently the privations of the back-woods, and resi- 
ded in their log cabins, the generous spirit of brave 
men, and a sense of right, pervaded their bosoms. 
Still, they forbore for the present to proceed to ex- 
tremities, in the hope that, as the doctor had nothing 
to pay the man with whom he boarded, he would be 
driven off by him, or soon leave of his own account. 
At length a couple of the most resolute and influen- 
tial young men in the settlement, called upon the 
man with whom the doctor boarded, and suggested to 
him, that in all probability he would never be able to 
realize anything for the doctor's board, nor for the 
use of his horse, and candidly advised him forthw^'th 
to expel the said doctor from his house. The man 
most cordially agreed with his kind advisers in all 
they proposed about the doctor, and replied, that no- 
body was more anxious to get rid of him, than him- 
self and his wife. '' But," said he, " we are afraid of 
him. He is one of the most impudent, revengeful 
and powerful men in the country, and he boasts so 
much about knocking down and dragging out, that 
we dare not oppose him." " Yery well," said the 
young men, " if that is his cue, you keep silent, and 
we will see that he has notice to quit speedily, and in 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 273 

a manner that will be perfectly efiectual, and save 
you entirely harmless." 

The information which these two leading spirits 
obtained at this interview, together with this, that it 
was notoriously a fact, that he, the said doctor, had 
attempted to let blood in the arm of a sick woman, 
not with a lancet, but with a dull jack-knife, a few 
days before, settled the question as to the propriety 
of ejecting him speedily from that community. This 
was in harvest time, and the settlers were confrre^a- 
ted in different fields in small parties, helping each 
other in the labor of reaping the wheat. These 
young men lost no time in communicating to their 
fellows, during the same afternoon, the scheme they 
had concocted. From each party they selected 
a few trusty associates, till they had secured their 
full complement, to do a certain piece of work that 
night, the particulars of which would be more fully 
explained, and the plan more clearly detailed, at a 
certain place of rendezvous, where all were punctu- 
ally to meet at a given hour. All this was done with- 
out the slightest interruption of the labors of the 
field. At the appointed hour and place, according to 
previous arrangement, in secret conclave, this mid- 
night gathering was held. These ''^select men " were 
directed to disguise themselves by blackening their 
faces with charred brands, by inverting their hats, 
turning their coats, and by various other devices 
which go to make up the representation of the prince 
of darkness. The hour for meeting was fixed at the 
L* 18 



274: THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 

solemn, silent meridian of night. The place, a cer- 
tain bridge, spanning a small stream. A newly made 
road led through the lofty woods, which with their 
deep, dark foliage, enveloped in almost total darkness 
every object that came within range of their impen- 
etrable shade. There, under cover of the night — 

" The numerotis rabble was drawn out, 
Of several places round about, 
From foreign parishes and regions. 
Of different manners, speech, religions. 
What rage, citizens ! what fury 
Doth you to these dire actions hurry ? 

The motley multitude were equipped in all the fan- 
tastic paraphernalia of demons recently from the in- 
fernal regions. Their accompaniment consisted of 
cow bells, tin horns, conch shells, brass kettles, tin 
pans, horse fiddles, pumpkin-vine trumpets, and all 
the rude music only to be found in a new settlement. 
All of this was got up to honor the interesting doc- 
tor with a serenade, who as yet was entirely ignorant 
of the extensive preparations that were in progress to 
greet him. As these hideously disguised men looked 
upon each other through the magnifying darkness, 
they could scarcely distinguish a man from a stump, 
except by his movements, nor could friend recognize 
friend, so perfectly transformed were they, and their 
own grim outline was enough to frighten the most 
courageous among them. 

At this point, they were told that a certain man in 
the confidence of the leaders of the party, whom they 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOK. 275 

all knew to be a shrewd, clever, down-east Yankee, 
who was perfectly calculated to act his part in the 
farcical drama about to be enacted, had already gone 
for the redoubtable doctor. He was to be summoned 
to come in great haste, to render his professional ser- 
vices in a very alarming and urgent case, the preten- 
ded patient being full two miles beyond the secluded 
spot where this singular group had collected. It was 
so arranged that when the doctor should arrive at the 
bridge, and the sound of the hoofs of his horse should 
clatter thereon, a distressing cry of terrible fright was 
to be raised by one stationed on the bridge to 
watch. " T/iere's a dear ! there's a hear ! " w^as to be 
the signal for those lying in wait to rise, start their 
rude music, unhorse the doctor, thrust a pole between 
his nether limbs, raise him upon the shoulders of five 
or six of the most stalwart of the party, and allow 
the poor, sorry, pretending son of Esculapius to ride 
awhile, without saddle, bridle, mane or stirrup with 
which to steady himself. In fact, as a sailor would 
express it, he was to have " a tight run under bare 
poles, with the chance of unshipping his rudder, be- 
coming foul in his own rigging, and at last being 
keeled up in a rough sea, on his beam's end, adrift in 
a hurricane." Matters came to pass in the precise 
order that the plan had contemplated. It proved 
not to be to the doctor the pleasantest thing in the 
world- thus compelled to ride a hobby of such res- 
tive unscrupulous mettle. Nevertheless, he bore up 
under his elevated position with wonderful firmness, 



276 THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 

considering that his " blushing honors " had been so 
unexpectedly and unceremoniously thrust upon him. 
After being forced to ride in this ludicrous and un- 
welcome manner for a reasonable time, he becan-3 
fully convinced that he was not the only valiant an:! 
athletic man in the country, but was willing to suc- 
cumb to the superior force of others. Becoming 
quite humble and submissive, he was allowed to 
alight unscathed from bodily harm. With an air of 
perfect nonchalance he was told exactly what he was, 
and what he was not ; what he might hereafter ex- 
pect, and why this summary mode of proceeding had 
been resorted to, which was to ensure his certain ejec- 
tion from town. It was then arranged that he should 
walk peaceably along, keeping time with the music ar- 
ranged in most unharmonious discord for his own 
particular benefit, until the town line should be passed. 
A solemn promise was next exacted, that he should 
not linger or delay until he left the country, under 
the stringent restriction that he would never return, 
and if he complied, all would be well with him ; but 
if on the contrary, he should under any circumstan- 
ces,, reappear in that vicinity, he might expect not to 
escape with a whole skin. To all this he most sol- 
emnly promised to adhere. But before the town line 
was crossed, he manifested occasional evidences of 
uneasiness, showed unmistakable symptoms of hostile 
intent, and at different times the most unequivocal 
demonstrations of belligerent purpose. But when- 
ever these effervescing ebullitions of his half-stifled 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 277 

passion were permitted to gain the better of his rea- 
son, he was soon calmed down to a rational sense of de- 
corum by the immediate application of those discipli- 
nary ai)p]iances which, during the manual operation, 
had heretofore been so perfectly successful in tranquili- 
zing liis agitated mind. For, without question or de- 
lay, he was at once set astride tlie pole, and elevated 
npon the shoulders of his determined tormentors. 
By these timely corrections, every alarming propen- 
sity was subdued, and his red hot wrath most won- 
derfully cooled. 

Along the way to the town line, several deposito- 
ries of refreshments were found safely stored in hol- 
low trees and stumps, with some one to w^atch for 
their safety, and to deal them out to the hungry way- 
farers. Of these the party always partook, and the 
shivering doctor was never omitted in the hospitali- 
ties thus liberally, and as it were spontaneously pro- 
vided. But it was more than once intimated that he 
must consider this indulgence only as a prompting of 
humanity, and not as a mark of respect, for it was 
positively settled that he must seek some more con- 
genial clime for practicing his frauds upon a confi- 
ding community. The result was, that the doctor 
was escorted in this manner until he had clearly 
passed the town line in the direction of Pompey Hill, 
where he was set down and left to his own reflections, 
with the consoling assurance that if he was ever again 
seen in that neighborhood he would be dealt with in 
a much more summary manner. 



278 THE BxiCKWOODS DOCTOR. 

The party who had been so active in the riddance 
of a boasting, vagabond quack, leisurely returned to 
their homes, which they reached a little before day- 
liglit the following morning, with no accident to la- 
ment, or calamity to deplore, save the thorough 
frightening of some of the good old dames of the for- 
est who were not in the plot, and who " could not 
imagine what on earth had broke loose." Some of 
them really thought that, from the unearthly noises, 
the jingling of bells, the blowing of horns, the bray- 
ing of trumpets, and the rattling of pans, that the day 
of judgment had surely come. But all the good peo- 
ple of the settlement were soon let into the secret, so 
that no harm followed ; but what was better, the 
morrow became a day of general rejoicing. ITone 
mourned the fate of the ill-starred doctor, but every 
one heartily exulted in the timely riddance. 

'Next morning early, ever}^ man was again at his 
post in the harvest field. There were no excessive 
outburstings of feeling on the occasion, no chuckling 
merriment or ungracious remarks made, and no un- 
generous reflections cast upon the character of the 
poor, miserable, despised, forlorn, ejected doctor. 
Everything was as quiet as if nothing had happened, 
and from that day to this, the said pretender has not 
been seen or heard from. But the story of his well- 
merited ejection, and the ludicrous circumstances at- 
tending it, are frequently related with a merry glee 
at this distant da}^, at the cheerful firesides of the 
sons and daughters of those who participated in the 



THE BACKWOODS DOCTOR. 279 

transaction, and their descendants will long have oc- 
casion to remember the ridiculous and unfortunate 
termination of the short and worthless career of the 
Backwoods Doctor. 



OLD ROSSE AND THE PANTHER. 

"A rover still unchecked will range, 
As humor calls or seasons change, 
His tent of mats and leathern gear 
All pack'd upon the patient steer. 
'Mid all his wanderings hating toil 
He never tills the stuhborn soil; 
But on the uncertain chase relies, 
And what spontaneous earth supplies. 

Pringle's Korannas. 

In the early days, Avhen almost every man was a 
hunter and all the country woods, extraordinary feats 
of daring were much more common than now. Men 
of giant stature and iron frame lived then. Those 
hardy foresters breasted mountains with earnestness, 
swam rivers without fear, traversed dreary, trackless 
wastes with alacrity, and at night their blazing camp- 
fires were kindled up with joy. Over the glowing 
coals the stalwart hunter, after tlie long and tiresome 
tugs and trials of the day, roasted his venison to sat- 
isfy his hunger, and calmly took a breathing spell. 
As his fire blazed and crackled, casting a mellow 
light upon the surrounding trees, as the smoke grandly 
curled and circled upward among tlie lofty branches 
thickly interlaced, forming an almost impervious roof 
above him, he merrily told to his comrades the tales 



OLD KOSSE AND THE rANTHER. 281 

of otlier days ; ate with a keen relisli his humble 
meal, and when done fell gently to sleep. To sleep ! 
Beware : a hunter on the chase never sleeps. lie is 
surrounded by dangers too great, by perils too nu- 
merous, for him to enjoy that luxury of the " castled 
lord." lie only lies down, with the earth for a bed, 
a bunch of leaves raked together for a pillow, with 
his blanket wrapped around him, to rest, far more 
awake than asleep. His dreams are only of the lofty 
mountain peak, the resistless torrent, the overwhelm- 
ing flood, the impenetrable wilderness, the furious 
wild beast, and the stealthy Indian. Nothing but the 
keen excitement of the chase and its concomitants 
enters his mind. Caressing his inseparable compan- 
ion — his faithful dog — stretching his lengthened 
limbs upon the bare ground, hugging to his bosom 
his trusty rifle, he takes rest sufficient for himself, 
and bids defiance to the world of ease. 

Many years ago there lived among us — no, among 
our fathers — an old Frenchman, a mighty hunter, 
named Mons. Kosse. AYhether he ever had a Chris- 
tian name we know not. But this we know, that for 
convenience or brevity's sake, he was familiarly called 
'-^Old Roz^^ and so we will call him now. The 
swamps and woods about Oneida Lake were his par- 
ticular hunting grounds. lie would sometimes go 
away and be gone from home, that is, from his fiira- 
ily, (for his home was literally in the wilderness,) for 
weeks together, and no one knew where he was. 
Like all good hunters he took great pride in his supe- 



282 OLD KOSSE AND THE PANTHEK. 

rior skill as a marksman, and nothing would take tlie 
color from his crest sooner than to meet a rival who 
was his equal in the management of the rifle. He 
was upon all occasions cool and deliberate, yet reck- 
less and unmanageable when provoked, though al- 
ways amiable to a fault if humored in his whims. 
His aid was always sought at log-rollings and house- 
raisings, because he counted himself the strongest man 
in the country at a "dead lift." A supine indolence 
and carelessness of futurity constituted essential ele- 
ments of his general character. He kept the finest 
gun and the best dog in the country — a full pouch of 
good tobacco, and an overflowing flask of real old St. 
Croix. He was never really at ease unless clad in 
his buckskin breeches, flannel hunting shirt and fox- 
skin cap, with the face of the animal fully portrayed 
before, and the tail swinging loosely behind. All his 
hunting toggery and gorgeous gear upon him, was as 
essential to his well being, as the toga virilis to an 
ancient Koman. His lean, gaunt, lathy, giant frame 
and wiry limbs betokened power and endurance. 
His visage on the whole was rather outre^ resembling 
in some respects a flitch of well hung bacon — bronzed, 
shriveled and greasy. His little, sunken, twinkling, 
black eyes showed more of craft, cunning and sub- 
tlety, than intellectual greatness. His long, fleshless, 
cordy fingers, scaly knuckles, callous palms, and long, 
tangled, elf-like hair, would remind the classical 
reader of either of the three Gorgones, whose gnarled 
and knotty locks were each a serpent fast bound to 



OLD EOSSE AND THE PANTHER. 283 

the head, yet continually writhing and struggling for 
release. Like many other good men and true, Old 
Roz was sometimes a little too familiar with the bot- 
tle. He thought it no harm to take a dram when dry 
to keep out the wet, and when cold to raise the heat, 
and if it was a little too hot, it was excellent to keep off 
the cold. Good old St. Croix was w4th him a imiver- 
sal panacea — a sure prevention of all the ills that 
flesh is heir to. He valued himself upon having his 
horn always filled with dry powder, and a full flask 
of rum to keep from being dry himself. Moreover, 
the latch string of his cabin was always out, and his 
liberal, hospitable heart made everything free within. 
To him the excitement of the chase was as essential 
as breath to his nostrils. In fact, hunting was his 
meat and drink, and in the profits thereof consisted all 
his worldly wealth. 

On a fine morning in the last month of the last 
year of the last century, after a light fall of snow, 
Old Roz^ with three boon companions, each one of 
them a kind of counterpart of himself, set out on a 
regular hunt. They fortified themselves w^ith every- 
thing necessary for a long absence, bread and salt 
being the principal articles in the provision line. 
They did not forget their '-^ pistols^'' (rum flasks) or to 
have them well charged, for these were indispensable 
to the strengthening of the inner man. The party 
pursued their course for a whole day through the 
dark mazes of the forest in company. At night, af- 
ter building a rousing fire and roasting some venison 



284: - OLD KOSSE AND THE PANTHEK. 

they had shot on the way, with apj^etites sharpened 
keenly by the toils of the day, they ate a hearty meal, 
called up the dogs and fed them, spread some hem- 
lock boughs for a bed, and after telling the usual 
round of stories, " camped down " for the night. Old 
Ito2^ however, not willing to trust entirely to luck, 
took shelter with his feet to the fire and his back 
against a large hemlock tree, whose ragged roots 
stretched out on either side of him, like the ponderous 
arms of a huge easy chair. He placed a large lump 
of moss for a seat, and in this comfortable recess, with 
his rifle between his knees and dog beside him, he 
^' snoozecV away, with one eye open for " strangers," 
until morning. On the break of day, all gathered 
round the glowing embers, and hastily settled upon a 
plan for another day's adventure. As they had been 
rather meagerly in luck the first day, while all were 
in company, they resolved upon a different course. 
Each one was to steer in a north direction some dis- 
tance from his fellows, but not so far as to be out of 
hearing. Upon the report of a rifle in the hand of 
either, all were immediately to repair to the spot and 
share the game, or if need be, to render assistance. 
This being the plan, they separated and moved for- 
ward. They liad proceeded in this way till near three 
o'clock in the afternoon without any one sounding an 
alarm. At this time, Old Roz fell upon a monstrous 
track, supposed by him to be that of a panther. He 
stopped and at once gave the appointed signal for his 
companions to come up, which they did in a short 



OLD ROSSE AND THE PANTHER. 285 

space of time. A council of war was immediately 
held. All agreed that Old Roz was right in his con- 
jecture respecting the animal making the tracks. 
Flints were pecked anew, primings were renewed, 
the dogs were called forward and encouraged, and 
last of all, a full, unbroached flask of rum was passed 
around to stimulate their courage to the sticking 
point. 

All things being in readiness, the dogs were put 
upon the scent. Away they hied in full cry, and 
were out of sight as if by a trick of magic. On 
rushed the hunters, shouting, leaping, sliding and 
tumbling along, entering at every step with increased 
relish into the spirit of the scene. 

The game led them a long way into the wilderness, 
but the dogs and the animal in chase were easily 
followed in the snow. At length the dogs were 
heard in the distance as if held at bay. The party 
rushed up and found the dogs had treed an enormous 
animal of some kind, which had hid himself in the 
almost impenetrable brandies of a lofty hemlock. So 
completely enshrouded was he in the top, that he 
could not be distinctly seen from any particular point. 
It was certain he must be there. The dogs could not 
be at fault. Besides, the tracks led to the tree, and 
not away from it, and a huge lump of something very 
nearly the color of the thick hemlock foliage could 
be distinctly seen aloft, yet what it was, could not be 
certainly ascertained. None thought it expedient to 
fire a shot until the " real critter " became known, and 



286 OLD ROSSE AND TUE PANTHER. 

a vital part of him exposed. So prolonged had been 
the pursuit, that the dim shade of twilight began to 
darken the scene, which, with the sombre shadow of 
the thick evergreens made it difficult longer to con- 
tinue the reconnoissance. It was determined to make 
the best use of w^hat little daylight was left, in kin- 
dling a fire, and in making preparation for a regular 
siege. The old hemlock fortress was systematically 
invested in true hunter style. A fire was built all 
around the roots of the tree, and a good store of fuel 
gathered, to keep it burning brightly during the night. 
They cooked their supper and ate it — saw that the 
dogs were cared for, after which the tobacco pouches 
were put in frequent requisition, the ashes knocked 
out of their buck-horn pipes, and they at sundry times 
replenished. The usual quantum of stories told, and 
songs sung, they stationed themselves two in a place 
at opposite sides of the fire, to guard against surprise 
and prevent the escape of their prisoner. It was now 
late at night. Although all had agreed to keep wide 
awake, one after another, except Old ^<93,' gradually 
fell to nodding on his log, and by degrees gently 
sunk into an involuntary slumber. He, knowing from 
experience the value of the most active vigilance on 
such occasions, kept his eyes ojDen, well aware that all, 
at any moment might be driven to act upon the de- 
fensive. For many an hour, gun in hand, he marched 
around the beleaguered fortress, cast fuel upon the 
watch-fire, and like a true and trusty sentinel in time 
of w^ar, patiently stood to his post, with little expec- 



OLD KOSSE AND THE PANTHER. 287 

tation of relief. Old Boz cast many an anxious 
glance towards his enemy entrenched above. To- 
wards morning his quick ear was greeted with the 
sound of a terrible scratching on the rough bark of 
the besieged tree directly overhead. Casting his eyes 
upwards, he saw the monster about forty feet above 
him rapidly descending, tail foremost, with his large, 
glaring eyes flashing fire, fully fixed upon him. lie 
dared not fire in the darkness, or dim, uncertain light 
of the fire, for fear of missing his aim. He instantly 
gave a loud cry of alarm : " The Painter ! The 
Painter ! " and immediately all hands gathered round 
the tree, to drive the animal back, or, if he came 
within reach to dispatch him. The hunters yelled 
and hallooed, caught up lighted firebrands and swung 
them around, called on the dogs to their assistance, 
cocked their rifles, and drew their knives, ready for 
a hand to hand fight. Meanwhile the panther, with 
his tail lashing his sides in anger, and fur erect, boldly 
descended, ready to clear himself by one masterly 
bound, from the reach of his enemies. It w^as hurry- 
ing times for the hunters. Down slid the enraged 
beast, just above their heads, as if ready to drop into 
their very midst. As he came within reach, and was 
in the very act of springing. Old Boz — ever the first 
to batter the wall and pass the breach — caught the 
"varminV^ firmly by the tail, close to the body, and 
with the gripe of a vise, for a moment held him last. 
The dogs rushed boldly to the rescue, and just man- 
aged to engage enough of the panther's attention 



2S8 OLD KOSSE AND THE PANTIIEIi. 

forward, to keep him from turning upon the man at 
the ''•tiller^ But courage Avith the dogs availed 
nothing, for they were almost instantly put hors de 
combat, by superior strength and the well-directed 
strokes of the panther's dexter paw. Some of the 
party had snatched their rifles and urged Old Roz to 
let go his hold that ifliey might fire without danger of 
hitting him. But he, nothing daunted, thinking " one 
bird, in hand is worth two in the bush," resolutely 
held on watli his unrelaxing grip. The panther yelled, 
pulled, and scratched, and Old Roz still braced and 
held on. Yet, while the exciting struggle continued, 
the bone and muscles of the tail parted company with 
the skin thereof, leaving the latter as a trophy in the 
hands of Old Roz. All this w^as but the work of au 
instant, and passed in less time than a man would 
tell it. The irritated beast, thus freed from the hands 
of his oppressor, with his skinless tail loj^ped down 
between his thighs, looking for all the world like 
a long, limsy, unpainted rawhide swinging from 
a saddle-bow, in his agony gave a horrid shriek, 
bounded upon a log near by, turned his head towards 
his tormentors, uttered a long, piteous, moaning howl, 
when instantly two rifles were leveled at his breast, 
and the monster fell down amongst them, scratch- 
ing and tearing the leaves and ground, in the last 
agonies of death. An exultant hurrah of triumph 
rang through the woods, the valiant hunters gathered 
round the bleeding carcass in merry mood, the whi- 
ning dogs came forward for their share of the glory, 



OLD ROSSE AND THE PANTHER. 289 

a grand feu de joie was fired, the rum flasks were not 
forgotten, and the greatest hilarity and merriment 
continued until morning. The skin of the panther 
was duly secured, which by common consent became 
the property of Old Roz. This heroic act was con- 
sidered as glory enough for one expedition ; a sort of 
crowning exploit, a finishing capital to the pillar of 
his achievements ; a polished keystone to the trium- 
phal arch of his renown. In due time, of course the 
party returned home with light hearts rejoicing. The 
trials, watchings and adventures of that eventful 
night became a theme of universal admiration among 
the hunters of the country, and as the hardy wood- 
men of after days gathered around their blazing camp- 
fires, roasting their savory venison, singing their merry 
songs, and telling their lively tales of adventure and 
renown, this added another marvel to the list. The 
hero of the tale became an oracle for courage, bold- 
ness and intrepidity, and the story of Old Roz and 
the Panther, yet lives in the memory of a few of those 
gray-headed seniors who well knew the man, and may 
it long live in the memory of those who have it sec- 
ond hand. 

M 19 



A BEAR ADVENTURE. 

" Danger looks big to Fear's deluded eye ; 
But Courage on the heights and steeps of Fate, 
Dares snatch her glorious purpose from the edge 
Of Peril ; and while sick'ning Caution shrinks, 
Or, self-betrayed, falls headlong down the steep. 
Calm Resolution, unappalled, can walk 
The giddy brink secure." 

Brown's Barbarossa. 

The early settlers of Onondaga county were as 
hardy, resolute and determined a set of men as ever 
opened the way to a new country, or cleared the lofty 
trees from an unbroken forest. Amidst the vicissi- 
tudes witli which they were surrounded, it is in no 
wise wonderful that they, also, in a considerable de- 
gree, possessed a spirit of bold and reckless adven- 
ture, and were not unfrequently the champions of 
daring feats and extraordinary exploits. It often be- 
came necessary, in those stirring times, that these 
sturdy men should resort to hunting and fishing to 
eke out the sometimes scanty and oftentimes precari- 
ous subsistence of tlieir families. These seasons be- 
came, also, seasons of relaxation from the more mo- 
notonous and fatiguing, though less exciting, laboi-s 
of their newly occupied farms. Their hunting and 



A BEAR ADVENTURE. 291 

fishing excursions inured them to all the hardships of 
border life, made them perfectly fearless of danger, 
and intimately familiar with the most thrilling inci- 
dents of peril. Courage, fortitude, intrepidity and 
generosity, were the sterling virtues that sprang up 
spontaneously with their laborious and adventurous 
lives. Their mode of life fostered and kept active a 
magnanimity of spirit, a freedom of thought, a promp- 
ness of action, and a laudable contempt for the ef- 
feminate, enfeebling delicacies of high life, while it 
promoted a single-minded, open-handed, warm-heart- 
ed, free-willed hospitality to their neighbor and the 
stranger. 

The story we are about to relate, in its hardihood 
and daring will nearly, if not quite, equal the famous 
one told of the brave Putnam and the wolf, to which 
in some respects, it is similar. 

In the high limestone ledge on the west bank of 
the Skaneateles Creek, about one mile below the 
village of Elbridge, there is a somewhat remarkable 
cavern. It is about twenty feet long by ten feet 
broad, is oval-shaped, and about eight feet high in 
the center. In former years, it was considered a 
rare curiosity, (it really is such,) and was visited 
by thousands of persons traveling to the " west- 
ward " over the " Old State Eoad." '' The cave " 
was a well defined landmark, and universally known 
fifty and sixty years ago in the remotest settlements 
of Western New York — " the Genesee country " of 
those days. Eeturning travelers reported its fame 



292 A BEAE advi:nture. 

far and wide over tlie whole of 'New England. It 
liad undoubtedly long been occupied as a den for wild 
beasts, for tlie rocks near the entrance bore evident 
marks of constant wear, and the rock at the mouth, 
a kind of threshold, was quite smooth, and somewhat 
polished. Undoubtedly many a fierce cub of bear 
and wolf had been whelped in this retired hiding- 
place, and, after being fully nurtured, roamed as free 
as air over the wilderness by which he was surround- 
ed, and when hunted by the rude savage, skulked 
away into this den unharmed, without fear of further 
molestation. 

It was first discovered under the following circum- 
stances : 

In the year 1703, K— F , not the E F of 

steamboat memory, though he was a man of as great 
courage and perseverance, if not possessing as great 
230wers of invention, and W — S — , not the W — S — 
who was the year following appointed the First Judge 
of Onondaga Common Pleas, but a scion of as noble 
a stock. The former was an old man ; the latter, a 
youth of seventeen. They started out on a fine No- 
vember morning, with the intent of passing down the 
Skaneateles creek, for the purpose of spearing a few 
salmon, a fish at that time very abundant in all the 
streams of any magnitude in the country. There 
had been a light fall of snow the night before, and 
the ground was a little frozen, making the way some- 
what slipper}^, and their passage among the thick ever- 
greens that lined the shores of the creek, the more 



A BEAU ADVKNTUlii:. 293 

dillicult, because of tlie snow that had hjdged in the 
branches. They liad succeeded in taking several fine 
fish, and had hiid them out upon the bank as was 
customary, intending to take them up on their return. 
They had passed down beU^w the present vilhige of 
Elbridge, two miles or more, and concluding they had 
secured plenty of salmon for the present, resolved to 
retrace their steps, and gather up their spoils as they 
passed along towards home. They had knocked off 
their spear heads, and while walking along, tugging 
and sweating under their precious burdens, their at- 
tention was suddenly attracted by a slight noise, ap- 
parently directly overhead. On looking up they dis- 
covered a huge bear, sitting upon a larg6, projecting 
rock, more than sixty feet above them, looking down 
with the most dignified composure, calmly surveying 
their movements. " Now," said the old man, " we 
will have that fellow." Upon this, he again attached 
his spear-head to its shaft, and with the most enthu- 
siastic eagerness, scrambled up the bank in hot pur- 
suit, directing his youthful companion to follow, who 
did so, not without some misgivings and trepidation. 
With considerable labor, by a circuitous route, the 
two gained the top of the bank, when the bear, upon 
the approach of the intruders, most precipitately re- 
treated into this den, no doubt thinking himself se- 
cure from further molestation. 

The old man w^as in no mood to be baffled ; but, 
Putnamdike, he divested himself of his coat and vest, 
crawled boldly through the narrow aperture, recon- 



2^4 A BEAE. ADVENTURE. 

noitered the position, and found the bear snugly en- 
sconced at the further extremity of the den. Having 
made a thorough exploration, he returned, and gave 
the young man directions to hurry home as fast as 
possible, bring the gun and ammunition, a hatchet, 
and an axe, and be sure to bring the dogs, while he 
would remain sentinel at the mouth of the cave till 
his return. 

In due time the youth came back with all the "tna- 
terlel and show of arms and dogs. The old man 
loaded his gun with the most calm and resolute deter- 
mination, firmly grasped it in his hand, and once more 
crept on all fours into the dismal cavern. It was so 
dark within that he could distinguish no part of the 
bear, except his glaring eye-balls, which flashed like 
glowing coals amid the surrounding gloom. He lev- 
eled his piece, took as careful aim as the darkness 
would allow, fired, and hit his bearship. exactly be- 
tween his eyes. Bat his head proved to be too 
hard for a leaden bullet to penetrate, for it glanced 
off, only tearing up the scalp in its course. The sharp 
crack of the gun, with its rapid reverberations, was 
almost deafening, and for an instant, nearly paralyzed 
the faculties of the old hunter. But as the smoke 
gradually cleared away, the grim outline of tlie bear 
was indistinctly seen at the back part of the den, 
showing him to be in a state of perfect desperation 
from the agony of his wound. After a few angry 
struggles and contortions, he came tumbling down 
from the highest part of the cavern, whither he had 



A BEAR ADVENTURE. 295 

retreated, and in his course, tumbled the redoubtable 
old hunter, sans ceremonie, somewhat to the injury of 
the nether man. But he, nothing daunted, was ever 
ready for the continuance of the conflict, and in the 
rough and tumble struggle that ensued, gave the 
bear a severe cut across the nose with his hatchet, and 
a slight stab in the flank with his hunting knife. 
Upon this rough and unexampled usage, the half-de- 
lirious and madly enraged bear made a hasty retreat, 
out of tlie mouth of the cave, at which the valorous 
youth had been stationed as a sentinel of observation, 
and charged, in case the bear came out, to give him 
battle witli the axe. But he, thinking discretion the 
better part of valor, had prudently retired to a re- 
spectful distance, and a place of safety, anxiously 
watching the progress of events, leaving the old man 
alone in his glory. The bear, from fright or delirium 
rolled tumultuously down the precipice below. The 
dogs, in a general cry of defiance, were set on in full 
pursuit ; the old man, knife and hatchet in hand, rap- 
idly pursuing, gallantly brought up the rear. The 
youth, ever in the most breathless anxiety, kept most 
valiantly behind, and by word and gesture made up 
for lack of personal participation in the murderous 
onslaught, leaving the tug of war for his gray -haired 
senior, and his canine auxiliars. lie acted as a co?'ps 
de reserve^ although he kept near enough t- > see all 
the running fight, and to be in at the death. The 
speed of the bear was greatly impeded by the prox- 
imity of the dogs to his haunches ; but woe betide 



296 A BEAR ADVENTURE. 

the cur that came within reach of his dexter paw, or 
became the subject of his relentless hug, or his fond 
embrace. He was kept in check by the unremitting 
attacks upon his rear, but he still made such rapid 
strides in his retreat as called forth the most active 
exertions of the old man to keep himself within as- 
saulting distance, ever and anon giving out an excla- 
mation of encouragement to the dogs to cheer them 
onward, and to the youth not to falter. 

After a long and doubtful chase along the rocky 
shore, the bear swam across the stream at a spot of 
great depth and stillness. In this emergency the dogs 
were at fault, for none of them dared swim after him, 
or attempt a continuance of their attacks in an ele- 
ment where Bruin was perfectly at home, when they 
were positively aware that the issue could not long 
be doubtful, in a contest prolonged at such dreadful 
odds. The hunter, too, was as much perplexed as the 
dogs ; but not to be foiled, and always fruitful in ex- 
pedients, he at once called off the yelping pack, ran 
quickly down the stream some sixty rods, crossed oter 
on some floodwood, and again proceeded to the attack 
with renewed vigor and resolution. The bear, instead 
of making the most of his time in rapid retreat, as if 
disdaining to take the least advantage of the security 
of his situation, liad majestically seated himself upon 
a little eminence, from which he could distinctly view 
the movements of his foes, and there, in an attitude 
of the most dignified and heroic composure, witli an 
air of bold defiance and the most stoical indifference. 



A BEAR ADVKNTUFwE. 297 

awiilted tlie approacli of liis eneinies, in a posture fur 
battle and defense, quietly lai)ping his wounds as lie 
surve3'ed the approaching danger. Upon the ap- 
proach of the dogs, after some aggressive 'attempts, on 
their part, and the rapid advance of the old man, the 
bear made an attempt to climb the bank ; but its 
steepness, and the harassing attacks of tlie dogs, ren- 
dered it extremely diflicult for him to make anything 
like successful progress. In view of the excessive 
boldness manifested by his bearship in his own de- 
fense, his rare dexterity and skill in warding off the 
assaults of the dogs, and his aptitude and self-posses- 
sion in all extremities in the running fight, several of 
the doojs had lost much of the ardor and courasce 
wdiich they had so signally exhibited in the com- 
mencement of the conflict, and some had been put 
absolutely hors dr comhat. So that now, in tlie mo- 
ment of greatest need, and in the great turning crisis 
of the fray, not a solitary one could be urged or forced 
to follow the bear up tlie steep acclivity. Nothing 
daunted, and not to be foiled, the old man alone, in 
hot haste, rushed on, and after many a desperate effort, 
at length succeeded in seizing the retreating bear by 
the long, shaggy hair of his thighs, and made him 
release his hold upon the rocks above, whereupon the 
two rolled down the ragged precipice in rather tu- 
multuous disorder. At this critical juncture, the dogs 
ruslied forward to the rescue of their master. The 
battle now became a hand-to-hand affair between the 
old man and the bear, still the dogs did valiant ser- 
M* 



298 A BEAR ADVENTURE. 

vice in making their cautious and hasty snaps at the 
flanks and rear of the infuriated animal, now becom- 
ing desperate by the number and determined resolu- 
tion of his adversaries. At length the old man, by a 
well directed blow, sunk his hatchet deep into the 
brain of his victim, and at once finished his warlike 
career. 

This story was related to us by the youthful partici- 
pator in its perils, who still lives in the vicinity of the 
scene of the adventure, in a green old age, often cheer- 
ing the rising generation witli a recital of the trials, 
hardships, sufferings, privations and adventures of the 
early pioneers of our country, and is a living witness of 
the wondrous change which, in the last sixty years, has 
been wrought in our land. From the circumstances 
above related, " the Cave " became a place of great 
notoriety, and of frequent resort at that period, al- 
though now it seems to be almost unknown and 
forgotten. 



THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 

"Inspiring, bold John Barleijcorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn I 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil, 
"Wr usquebae we'll face the devil i 
Tlic swats f?ae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. 

Burns' Tarn O'Shantey. 

A KATiiER oxciting and ludicrous incident happened 
long ago in tlie earDtern part of our county. In tliose 
days wolves Avere somewhat troublesome to the cheep- 
folds, and were a source of terror and alarm to the 
wayfarer, after the sombre shade of night had cast its 
dim mantle over the sunless face of nature. They 
were not so much dreaded, however, on account of 
their numbers, as for their frequent boldness and dar- 
ing. With whatsoever terror they instinctively in- 
spired the flocks and children, they were not consid- 
ered as in a very great degree dangerous to " the rest 
of mankind" in general. For all this, the name 
"wolf'Avas seldom spoken without creating a feel- 
ing of uneasy apprehension and alarm. 

In those early days, '* quiltings, spinning-bees, ap- 
ple-bees," and such like " rustic employments " and 
gatherings were common among the females of a past 
generation, remarkable for its just appreciation and 



300 THE KEGKO FIDDLiCK. 

proper mingling of the utile et dulce. Many a merry 
gathering was had on those occasions, answering in 
those un]3retending and primitive times to what have 
since been substituted and termed by their posterity, 
" splendid parties." Then, there was little of re- 
straint ; common sense and good behavior being suf- 
ficient passports to all respectable society, and a sure 
guarantee for good breeding, without being specially 
drilled by rule in all the conventional forms of the 
" high life " and *' polished society " of the present 
day. Whenever the matrons or their daughters of 
those days wished a little relaxation from the toils 
and cares of the domestic fireside, or desired espe- 
cially to enjoy the sweet society of their particular 
friends, invitations were given out to meet at " our 
house ^^ on & certain named afternoon, to help "Mo- 
ther " — not " Ma " — " get off" a quilt. Or, if the 
occasion was a " spinning-bee," the flax or wool was 
sent around to the women and girls of the distaff and 
spindle, who gladly received the same, and who were 
invited to return the yarn at a specified time. After 
the quilt was off, or the yarn returned, the lady host- 
ess provided her guests most bountifully with tea, 
hot short-cakes reeking with fragrant odor, and 
" butter in a lordly dish," to be seasoned with good 
plumb sauce, strawberry tart, raspberry jam, or ap- 
ple butter, all rich in their kind, and in abundance 
the most profuse. The seasoning and preparation of 
these knick-knacks always became the chief " tea ta- 
ble talk,''^ unless it was occasionally varied by chit- 



THE NEGKO FIDDLEK. 301 

chat about Miss Such-an-one's uew beau, or Mrs. So- 
and-soh new silk gown, always winding up, however, 
with ^'-teacup fortune telling,^'* iSTo one felt at lib- 
erty to " mince the matter," but ate of the good things 
provided, according to the good old scriptural rule, 
as if they loved what was set before them, " asking 
no question for conscience's sake." After the " tea 
things" were "cleared away," the " men," old and 
young, came in, and the evening was almost univer- 
sally spent in high glee, in "trij^ping the light fantastic 
toe," and not unfrequently were the joyous guests de- 
tained until quite late at night, or rather, " did n't get 
home till mornino;." 

The grand oracle of music at those merry makings 
was an old wall-eyed negro, ycleped " Tom," whose 
old cracked, crazy, spliced-string fiddle, assisted in 
difficult parts of his inimitable symphonies by a 
squalling, squeaking, worse cracked voice, discoursed 
discord harsh enough " to soften rocks or bend the 
knotted oak." That is, Tom's music had the same 
effect upon a sensitive ear that Hannibal's vinegar 
had upon the crags of the Alps, or the great tornado 
upon the forest of Bondi. It rent a man's softer 
senses into chaos, and annihilated every refined senti- 
ment of pleasure and taste. At first it would set one 
into a complete ague shiver, and at last end in a per- 
fect break-down. He could play but the first half of 
one " good old tune," and that was, ''^ All in me heije 
Betty Martin^^ and this he always closed witli a da, 
cajpo. He also sung a song — the only one he knew — 



302 THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 

which was always received by the company with 
much satisfaction, for Tom always as much expected 
to sing ''''Brian CLinn^'' as he did to play ^^ Heye 
Betty Martin^'' and his employers, or rather his audi- 
ence, just as much expected to have him. Good or 
had, little or mucli, sweet or sour, acceptable or for- 
bidding, Tom was the man indispensable on all merry- 
making occasions. In fact, at that time he was the 
only available musician in the land. ISTo one could 
presume to steer straight Ihrough the labyrinthine 
mazes of a '^ French four " or a " Scotch reel^'' with- 
out the promptings of Tom and tlie music of his 
fiddle. 

It happened on a cold, dreary, stormy winter 
night as ever blcM', that Tom was called to play at 
one of these quiltings. The fun and frolic as usual 
was kept up till almost two o'clock in the morning, 
after wliich the company began to disperse. Tom 
had to pass through a piece of pine woods on his 
homeward route, and commenced his journey, fiddle 
in hand, with a liglit heart and a ready good will, 
having pocketed liis dollar in advance, for services 
rendered. Tom had become pretty well charged 
with " creature comforts," — by the way, nothing disre- 
putable in those days. He dearly loved them, and al- 
ways judged of the respectability and consecjuence of 
his host and the company he entertained, by the abun- 
dance and quality of the good things provided. The 
eifect of the ^^ cheer'''' upon his spirits, and the jing- 
ling of the change in his pockets, lent wings to his 



THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 303 

steps, and so far, his imaginings were of the most 
agreeable nature, while his reflections on the pleasant 
scenes of the evening had dispelled all thoughts of 
danger or alarm from foes without, along the road. 
In the midst of Tom's happy reveries, he all at once 
became suddenly startled, and an end came to all the 
pleasing dreams his heavily burdened imagination 
had pictured of the present, the past, and the future. 
But what was the cause of this sudden interruption 
of the flowing course of happy thought, he could not 
tell. His attention was at first arrested by a pat, pat, 
patting noise upon tJie crusted snow behind him. He 
stopped to listen, and all was still. He again pro- 
ceeded onward, and again the same unwelcome sound, 
with increased volume, greeted his ears. He justly 
suspected that evil lurked in his path, but the nature 
of it, he could not as yet fully comprehend. Unwil- 
ling to proceed with an enemy in his rear, he reso- 
lutely determined to retrace his steps a little distance 
and see if he could not ascertain the cause of his 
alarm. He had not proceeded far, before he discov- 
ered the dim outline of a wolf, who had just taken up 
his line of retreat. Tom wisely concluded it w\as 
safest with the greatest possible expedition to hasten 
his steps towards home, for it was no friendly saluta- 
tion he could exi)ect to receive from such a vagabond 
wanderer alone in the woods after dark. His whole 
thoughts were now centered in the little log cabin 
where his wife and four little curl-headed barbarian 
Toms lay sweetly clasped in the arms of Morpheus, 



304 THE NKGEO FIDDLER. 

wholly unconscious of the clanger wliich periled the 
lite of their wayhiid husband and sire. Ilis whole 
energies were now bent to the single object of secu- 
ring a safe landing place within the rude hut that con- 
tained all that was dear to him in this world, except 
" a little good liquor " and the old fiddle. 

lie had not proceeded for, however, before he heard 
the quick tramp of the wolf approaching nearer and 
nearer at every step, and these multiplying with 
fearful rapidity. He looked back, and now saw two 
instead of one of these gray marauders, within a few 
yards of him. It w^as, indeed, a moment of peril, 
and poor, frightened Tom for once, at least, looked 
blacker than " darkness darkened." Huge drops of 
perspiration gathered in grimy globules upon his fore- 
head, and his heart beat thump, thump, thump, like 
a ponderous sledge hammer at his breast. To run 
was death. To stop where he was, was only to perish 
by piecemeal. Poor fellow, he could almost feel the 
relentless grip of the hungry wolves' jaws rending 
his quivering flesh, and almost hear the big red drops, 
like the first of a thunder shower, fall on the unsullied 
snow. The ebbing tide had lost its power to flow, 
and his pulseless wrist was nerveless. As tliey ap- 
proached nearer, he could really hear the low mut- 
tering growl of the wolves, and frequently their teeth 
met with that peculiar inimitable sna^^ known only to 
their kind. Delay had the efl'ect to restore Tom's 
mind to reason, and time restored his wonted courage. 

As good fortune would have it, near to the place 



THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 305 

where Tom was thus beleaguered, stood a " shingle 
weaver's shanty." To that, as a place of refuge and 
safety, he in the greatest trepidation fled. No sooner 
was he fairly in, than to his great consternation he 
found one wolf with his head within the door. Quick 
as thought, Tom mounted astride a beam overhead, 
upon which the wolf at once rushed in, and in an in- 
stant, Tom, little knowing what he did, whipped out 
his jack-knife, severed the piece of raw hide tliatheld 
up the drop-door, and down it went. The wolf was 
thus, without ceremony, a prisoner vis-a-vis with 
Tom. 

The wolf outside, upon finding that his companion 
was cut off from him and held in durance vile, with- 
out prospect of liberation or relief, gave a few dis- 
mal, melancholy howls and retired witli chagrin and 
disappointment. The imprisoned wolf finding that 
his egress was cut off, began in turn to be anxious 
about his own safety. He tried at every point to ef- 
fect his escape, but all to no purpose. He made sev- 
eral desperate springs to bring Tom down from his 
beam, but failed. Ilis efforts proved unavailing. lie 
at length quietly lay down, keeping his glaring eyes 
in no very enviable mood fixed upon poor Tom. At 
this stage of affairs it would have been hard to tell 
which stood in the greatest fear of his adversary, Tom 
or the wolf. But Tom, for tlie present at least, was 
safe, and though he calculated the chances of escape 
to be rather against himself, he thought tliat with 
proper watchfulness, the fortress would be tenable till 

• 20 



306 THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 

morning. Through the whole affair, Tom had instinct- 
ively hung on to his fiddle, encased in an old, faded 
green bag. In his loneliness, and in the confidence 
inspired by his safe place of retreat, he now bethought 
himself of its power to charm. Elated with this new 
idea, he diew out the instrument, and accidently 
dropped the case to the ground. In an instant the 
wolf tore it into shreds, showing in a small, though 
significant way, what might be poor Tom's condition, 
should he be caught napping and fall to the bottom 
of the den. He tuned up his old fiddle to the right 
key and pitch, and deliberately gave the wolf a spe- 
cimen of his good old tune, " All in me heije Betty 
Martin^'' as usual one strain, without variations, and 
so over and over he went with it, adagio, allegretto, 
bassanno, piano, &c., till his fingers became so be- 
numbed with cold that he was obliged to desist. 

"The squeaking engine he applied 
Unto his head, on north-east side, 
His warped ear hung o'er the strings. 
Which were but souse to chitterlings ; 
His grisly beard was long and thick. 
Which quite o'erhung his fiddlestick." 

To vary the scene and to keep up his own spirits, 
he more than once gave his ever acceptable song of 
" Brian C Linn.'''' Meanwhile the wolf lay quiet, 
not exactly relishing the music, or comprehending 
the song, though reluctantly compelled to listen to 
both. He, no doubt, considered that, 



THE np:gro fiddler. 307 

"The famished wolf upon the plains, 
Is happier than the cur in chains." 

The night was long, tedious and dreary, and it re- 
quired the utmost stretch and watchfulness of Tom's 
mental and ph^-sical powers to keep from drowsiness 
and fiilling. Weary though he was, he managed to 
keep awake, and to hold on to the beam with un- 
flinching tenacity. The skill with which Tom drew 
the bow and fingered the strings of his old fiddle, 
which never stood him in greater need before, un- 
doubtedly had as much eifect, and as salutary, upon 
the imprisoned wolf and the " desert air," as the in- 
comparable music of Orpheus' " Golden Shell^'' at 
the regal palace of Pluto, when the wheel of Ixion 
ceased to turn — Tantalus forgot the burning thirst 
that till that moment had continually tormented him 
— when the Stygian vulture ceased to prey on the 
never-wasting vitals of Tityus, and Pluto and Pro- 
serpina were charmed with the enchanting, myste- 
rious breathings of his lute and lyre. 

At length the day began to dawn, much to the re- 
lief and joy of poor Tom, and the sun arose over the 
drifted snow with a majesty and beauty never so fully 
realized by him before, and never did the poor fel- 
low so cheerfully bend in adoration to the god of day. 
The forenoon passed away, and still the wolf kept a 
strict watch up(,'n Tom, and he as strict a watch over 
the wolf, neither seeming willing to stir, or to mo- 
lest his adversary. The wolf evidently would have 
been glad to be off, and Tom would have given up 



308 TIIE NEGRO FIDDLER. 

everything of liis worldly goods, except tlie fiddle, to 
have been liberated from this thraldom, for the poor 
fellow was well nigh frozen, and still no prospect of 
escape. Towards noon, Tom's family began to grow 
nneasy concerning him, for he was really a sort of 
minute hand in punctuality, not only in arriving at 
the house appointed for him to play at, but also in re- 
turning home. As he did not arrive with the rising 
sun or soon after, as it was usual for him to do, and 
rejoice with his wishful wife and laughing little ones, 
they became very much alarmed. His wife, in great 
trepidation, mustered some friends, for Tom had many 
entitled to that endearing appellation, and who were 
pleased in turn to recognize a friend in him. These 
took the road leading past the shanty, expecting 
either to find Tom frozen t.o death in the woods, or 
his fleshless bones stripped and bare, scattered over 
the bloody patli. Tom, ever watchful, saw his old 
friends and neighbors approacliing with w^oebegone 
countenances. He gave aloud halloo from his dreary 
prison, which was responded to with joyous shouts. 
All were rejoiced to find him alive and comparatively 
well, but they were not a little surprised to find what 
sort of companion he was shut np with, cheeh-hy- 
jotol^ without any chance of release or escape, except 
from help witliout. A large party was assembled, 
guns were procured, and the wolf was shot through 
the crevices between the logs. Poor Tom was thus 
relieved from his perilous situation, and after receiv^- 
ing the hearty congratulations of his " Rescuers^'* he 



THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 309 

returned homo with joy, having been imprisoned in 
the coldj astride a pole, for more than nine hours, 
with no company hut a liungry wolf. 

The best part of the story for Tom's benefit yet re- 
mains to be told. A large, stated bounty was in those 
days awarded by law to every person who should de- 
stroy " a full grown wolf." There could be no doubt 
about this animal's being full grown, for he proved to 
be a monster of his kind, and although Tom had 
really little direct agency in his death, those who 
had, were willing to waive their claims in favor of 
him who had so signally and valiantly periled his life, 
and at last came off with a whole skin. The whole 
amount of state, county, and town bounty, footed up 
the snug sum of over fifty dollars, and this was al- 
lowed on all hands to belong properly to Tom, who 
pocketed the reward with most satisfactory grace, and 
henceforward became himself a veritable lion. 

Some fifteen years ago, a story in many of its fea- 
tures similar to this, went the rounds of the newspa- 
pers, stating that that incident happened in Kentucky. 
Xow this story is true, and the notes for it were taken 
long since. The subject, Tom, was in his lifetime well 
known to the writer, who forty years ago rambled in 
frolicsome mood in the pine woods where the inci- 
dent happened, and in days of yore played in the 
identical shanty where Tom and the wolf spent a tur- 
bulent night. lie has often, in childhood, been trot- 
ted upon the patched and greasy knee, and rode 
astride the broad shoulder of the merry old negro. 



310 THE NEGRO FIDDLER. 

Often, when older grown, he has received the firm 
gripe of his hard and knotty hand, and a kinder, gen- 
tler, happier soul never inhabited the clay tenement 
of mortal. It is now more than eight and thirty years 
since poor Tom " shuffled off this mortal coil " and 
sealed, 

" A dateless bargain to engrossing death." 

Peace to his ashes. 



THE WOLF HUNT. 

"Cruel as death and hungry as the grave 1 
Burning for blood! bony and gaunt and griml 
Assembling wolves in raging troops descend, 
And poui'ing o'er the country, bear along, 
Keen as the north wind sweeps the glossy snow, 
All is their prize." 

Thompson's Winter. 

When the white people first commenced the settle- 
ment of Onondaga county, the forests were more or 
less infested with wolves. Sometimes they were met 
with singly, while on other occasions they were seen 
in parties of three or four, and not unfrequently they 
congregated to the number of a dozen or more. It 
does not appear, however, that numbers added much 
to their boldness and ferocity, for they would fly from 
a solitary hunter or traveler even when in packs. 
There are a few — and but a few — instances upon rec- 
ord in this country, where persons traveling tlirough 
extensive forests have been attacked by gangs of 
wolves. Whatever dread they had of the human 
race, the flocks of sheep were not so fortunate. Some- 
times a whole flock of thirty or forty would be indis- 
criminately slaughtered by these voracious animals 
in a single night. They seemed to commit their 
wanton depredations in sheer malignancy of nature, 



312 THE WOLF HUNT. 

only tasting a chosen morsel about the neck and 
drinking the blood. ' Their subsistence seemed on the 
whole to be rather precarious, for they always ap- 
peared to be in a starving condition, and if fortune 
favored them with a full meal, a few days of inactiv- 
ity and rest restored their habitual thirst for blood 
and appetite for plunder. They sometimes ran down 
deer on the deep encrusted snow, through which the 
deer would break, yet strong enough to bear the 
wolf. In summer they would sometimes continue the 
chase of a deer for several days, until the tired, ex- 
hausted creature would " give in," from hunger and 
fatigue. In the hottest pursuit, a wolf never " gives 
tongue," as the hunters say, but moves on perse- 
veringly, in silence, steadily but surely. At first the 
deer is vastly his superior in fleetness. He stops to 
gaze upon his pursuers, and as they near him, he 
bounds away like an arrow, only to be again overta- 
ken, and at last to fall a certain victim. Sometimes, 
however, the wolf, while on the track, when hard 
upon his prey, will utter a low, sharp bark, but the 
long-drawn howl, so peculiar to the animal, is ut- 
tered in the fastnesses of the forest, when roaming 
about at leisure, and hunger and famine have little 
to do with it. An animal so ferocious in disposition, 
so rapacious and unscrupulous in securing the means 
of satisfying his hunger, was of course a sworn enemy 
to all the early settlers. A large bounty was given 
for the destruction of every wolf, so that in addition 
to the general enmity existing between the species 



THE WOLF HUNT. 313 

on account of the destruction of the flocks of farmers 
by wolves, the bounty operated so as to enlist the 
whole race of hunters and trappers, who entered upon 
the general war of extermination for the profits, as 
well as for the excitement. The baiting of wolves 
and bears, and the trapping of them., formed almost 
the entire occupation of many of the old foresters. 
Huge, double-spring steel-traps, taking two strong 
men to set them, were much in use, and a rude kind 
of trap, made of logs, was very tempting and success- 
ful. But every precaution had to be exercised to de- 
coy the sliy, cunning, crafty animal within the de- 
vouring jaws of a trap. Deer sometimes by accident 
were caught in these traps, and even men have been 
crushed to death in the log traps, while setting them 
for wolves. It was the custom of the country in the 
early days, whenever the wolves had made serious 
depredations among the flocks, to assemble in large 
parties for a general ''wolf hunt." 

It was during the winter of 1818-19 that frequent 
essays had been made by wolves upon the flocks of 
farmers in the towns of Sullivan, Cicero and Manlius. 
Town meetings were held, at which resolutions were 
passed to the end of getting up a " wolf hunt," to 
scour the great " Cicero swamp," and root the rascals 
out. Accordingly, advertisements were published in 
the newspapers of the day, and flaming handbills 
circulated throughout the country to excite the true 
hunter spirit. Many of the principal citizens of the 
towns of Sullivan, Cicero, Salina, Fompey and Onon- 
N 



31^ TUK WOLF HUNT. 

dao-a entered into the scheme with great earnestness 
and glee. On the day appointed, places of rendez- 
vous having been named, hundreds came together, 
including men and boys. About every third man 
was armed with a rifle, while the rest, just as valiant, 
armed themselves with knives, bayonets, lances, 
pitchforks and clubs. Many were on the ground the 
day beforehand, ready for prompt action. Early in 
the morning, those who were expected to join in the 
hunt, were formed into companies, and captains cho- 
sen from among themselves, the whole being under 
the direction of superior officers previously appointed. 
The ground to be surrounded was the entire Cicero 
Swamp, making a circuit of some ten or twelve miles. 
The plan was to drive the wolves out upon the ice on 
the Oneida Lake, and shoot them down at will. On 
the morning of the hunt, the first grand object was, 
after preliminaries were arranged, to form a perfect 
and uninterrupted line around the swamp, before 
the signal was given to advance ; each man being 
stationed about fifty or sixty paces from his fel- 
low, which order each man was strictly enjoined to 
follow. The hunters would rapidly lessen the dis- 
tance between each other as the semi-circle narrowed 
towards the center. To form the desired line was no 
easy matter in the thick and almost impenetrable 
woods and underbrush. The rash impetuosity of 
many of the youthful and inexperienced hunters, 
whose impatience could brook no delay, and who 
thought themselves as well qualified to command as 



THE WOLF nUNT. 315 

to obey, rendered the task still more difficult. Fi- 
nally at about ten o'clock, a. m., the mass was arranged 
in line. All things being in readiness for moving on- 
ward, a bugle was sounded at head-quarters — the 
^oint Wajpjmi. About every sixth man being fur- 
nished with a bugle or horn, the signal passed quickly 
around the semi-circle, agreeable to previous arrange- 
ment. When the blasts returned to the starting point, 
the line moved forward. Tlie horns, bugles and hal- 
looing served as guides to keep the line in order. 
Eagerly the line moved on. Every man was in the 
greatest expectation and anxiety to meet a wolf. It 
had been arranged in the outset, that not a shot should 
be fired except at a wolf, a bear, a panther or a wild- 
cat. But such a mass of undisciplined backwoods- 
men it could not be expected would be held under 
very great restraint. Several who were more intent 
upon game for their own benefit, than for hunting 
wolves for the general good, took their stations far 
into the interior of the swamp, intercepted and shot 
down many deer that were driven before the line 
formed by the regular hunters. As the line moved 
on and narrowed its boundaries, the hotly hunted 
deer becoming confused, hardly knowing which way 
to flee for safety or retreat, several of the boldest 
of the terror-stricken creatures rushed swiftly through 
the line, and although numerous shots were fired af- 
ter them, they nevertheless made good their escape 
unscathed. As the party neared the lake, and the 
lino became circumscribed to still narrower limits, 



316 THE WOLF HUNT. 

expectation stood on tiptoe to get a glimpse at wolves, 
bears and panthers. But instead of these, were seen 
only numerous frightened deer with heads and tails 
erect, bounding away in the distance, with all the 
grace, beauty and fleetness peculiar to the animal 
when free, wild and terrified. Some, more frightened 
than the rest, stood stamping, panting, snorting and 
whistling in the greatest trepidation and dismay. 
Others might be seen rapidly flying in every direc- 
tion, looking out for a break in the line to get away. 
The poor, distracted animals as they approached the 
circle within which they were closely hemmed, were 
met by the shouts and firing of the hunters, from 
whom they turned away again and again, in terror 
and despair. After hurrying to and fro for a little 
time, with the velocity and tumultuous confusion of 
the whirlwind, some fifteen or twenty of them, amidst 
a shower of bullets and the loud hurras of hundreds 
of men and boys, dashed boldly on, and in spite of 
all the vigilance and clamor of their foes, broke 
through the line, making good their retreat. 'No- 
thing else was driven out by the doughty hunters 
into the opening along the shore of the lake. 

The bears, (if there were any,) taking time by the 
forelock, and before the furious onslaught assumed a 
serious aspect, or the battle came to close quarters, 
probably scrambled up such trees as would best se- 
cure to them a safe retreat, or sought other burrow- 
ing places quite as congenial to their safety. 

The panthers, too, (if any,) probably betook them- 



THE -WOLF HUNT. 317 

selves to tlie same safe sources of seclusion and 
security. 

The wolves — for whose peculiar benefit the hunt 
was originated — were eitlier not there at all, or 
sneaked away under the shelter of some recumbeuc 
tree or upheaved root, or slunk off into some hollow 
log or tangled thicket, till their pursuers had passed 
by, and thus saved themselves from the fatal catas- 
trophe so intently meditated against them. 'Not a 
wolf, or bear, or panther was seen or heard during 
the da}^ A few deer and two or three wild-cats were 
the only trophies of this momentous hunt. 

ISTotwithstanding the disappointment of the valor- 
ous multitude of intrepid hunters on this memorable 
occasion, whether attributable to mismanagement in 
carrying out the details of the hunt, or the thorough 
frightening of these lank, lean-sided, shaggy, thievish 
brutes, or the entire absence of real wolves, the hunt 
had one good effect. A wolf has never been known 
to commit any depredations since, nor has his gray, 
grim visage been seen, nor has his long-drawn, pite- 
ous, alarming howl from that day to this been heard 
in his former haunts. It put a final finish to all wolf- 
ish operations in Onondaga county. 



THE HERMIT. 

"A little lowly hermitage it was 
Bowne in a dale, hard by a forest's side, 
Far from resort of people that did pass 
In traveill to and froe : 

Thereby a christall streame did gently play 
Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway." 

Spenser's Faery Queene. 

While we look around lis and see a large majority 
of the busy world all astir, all activity, all life ; each 
individual diligent in the pursuit of wealth, honors, 
fame and happiness, rushing on with reckless impet- 
uosity along the line marked out for the fulfillment 
of his destiny, with as much determination of pur- 
pose as if the salvation of the whole innumerable car- 
avan of animated nature depended upon the celerity 
of his movements ; let us for a moment contemplate 
the ways, the wants, the wishes of one of another 
mould. One who has been trained under the influ- 
ences of the stern, unrelenting rod of adversity. One 
who was wont to look with stoical indifference upon 
the faults, follies, foibles and realities of life, and with 
distrust and disdain upon all those who help to swell 



THE HEEMTT. 319 

tlie sum of human representation. Here, perchance, 
we may find one less ambitious, less enterprising, yet 
perhaps more contemplative and philosophical, des- 
pising the joys of social life, casting the ordinary pur- 
suits of men behind, and sitting down in moody mel- 
ancholy, indijfferent alike to the allurements of wealth, 
the charms of society, the fascinations of pleasure 
and the blessings of personal comfort — contemning 
business in all its different phases, unmoved while 
others rise or fall, despising popularity, distinction 
and eminence, contented to live on to the end alone, 
and in obscurity. When we meet a character so out 
of the common course, so willing to grant that 

* * * *' God gives to every man 
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
Just in the niche he was ordained to fill," 

we are prone to mark the singularity, and wonder why 
we cannot arrive at a satisfactory solution of a dark 
enigma. 

In our boyish days it was often our pleasurable lot 
to ramble, with fishing rod and line, along the mar- 
gin of one of the loveliest little brooks that ever gli- 
ded murmuringly over its pebbly bed, or was over- 
shadowed by woody mountain height. Tlie sjDeckled 
trout darting swiftly through the rushing waters, in- 
vited us to the boiling eddies, where with mimic fly 
or tortured worm upon the bearded hook, we enticed 
the shy, unsuspecting victim to destruction. There, 
too, we richly enjoyed many a fleeting leisure hour, 



320 THE HERMIT. 

as it slipped stealthily from the time of our being. 
As we traced the tumbling waters along their rocky 
margin to their source through the leafy forest, we 
were led along the rough hill-side, where the never- 
dying foliage shaded the rugged way, and ever-vary- 
ing flowers yielded in their season the richest per- 
fume, shedding a peculiar fragrance, heightened by 
the refreshing showers of morning, and the sweet 
dews of night. Far up the steep hill-side, from be- 
neath a rocky ledge, burst forth in its own peculiar 
beauty a perennial spring, the source and fountain of 
the babbling brook. Its silvery watei-s, sweet and 
clear, sparkling and bright, often invite;! the return- 
ing and weary fisherboy to quench his thirst at the 
cool, refreshing fountain. The living stream gushed 
forth its gurgling waters in all the profusion of mu- 
nificent nature. It still continues to pour out its clear, 
pellucid current with ceaseless and undiminished 
flow. The wild celandine formed a perfect covering 
of wavy green over the abrupt acclivities as we ad- 
vanced tow'ard the summit, alleviated occasionally by 
a plat of mandrakes, with their golden fruit, most de- 
licious under the ripening dominion of a summer's 
sun. 

Here, on a little plain, less perhaps than an acre in 
extent, amid the wildest solitude, surrounded by high 
hills, with scarcely sufficient opening to admit the 
light of heaven at noonday, entirely apart from hu- 
man ken, with no counterpart or company, stood — 
aye, and still stands — a rude hut of logs, diminutive, 



THE IIEKillT. 321 

yet neat, — so cleiin, so white, so fresli witliin, witlioiit, 
so simple and so cliaste, that it always tempts tlie 
wandering stranger to its inward privacy. But the 
tidy fence surrounding the little cabin, so nice and 
trim, and the huge hasp and padlock on the door, 
forbids intrusion. The stillness and solitude of the 
scene conspired to lull our youthful heart into the 
dreamy reverie in which poets suppose the hermits 
of the dark ages to have wasted their lives in obscu- 
rity, indolent and poor, yet, perhaps, not unwise. 
Surrounding the humble cot was a garden, laid out 
with order and taste. The lettuce, the onion, and the 
beet, grew there luxuriantly, and the potato, the tur- 
nip, the cabbage, with a little patch of corn and to- 
bacco, made up the remainder of the crop. Every- 
thing smiled good naturedlj^ around, so far as inani- 
mate nature can smile. Tlie whole was a miracle of 
neatness — a sweet little paradise of beauty. As of- 
ten as our mind recurs to this rich scene of our boy- 
hood, we are constrained to say in the language of 
another, 

"I know a little blooming spot, 

Tliat alwa3s looks as new and bright, 
As if 't were its eternal lot, 

To wear Spring's coronal of light." 

Had tlie Syrens of the Isles, or the Xymphs of 
Ocean lent their songs of enchantment to gladden the 
scene ; had the Gnomes of Earth volunteered to darken 
the gloom ; had the Naiads of the running streams 
strewed their fruits and flowers in the way to allure 
N* 21 



322 THE HERMIT. 

the weary wanderer; had the Cumean Sybil, or 
JErial Sylphs furnished materials to complete the pic- 
ture, they would hardly have added to the sweet, wild 
music of the woods, or improved upon the beauty and 
picturesqueness of the mountain scenery, or deepened 
the o:loom of the surronndins: solitude. Here the 
dark winter storm howled unheeded, and the summer 
sun spent its fury in vain. In this mountain gorge 
has long lived, and still lives, "The HEKMrr." ISTo 
cat, no dog, or thing of life, claims his care, his ca- 
resses or his affections. Tlie gay forest birds carol 
their cheerful notes in the green wood, near by, too 
shy for companionship ; while the saucy squirrel 
archly chatters his parting salutation as he robs the 
Hermit of his scanty store. The frosts of age have 
whitened the thin locks of the old man. More than 
seventy winters have shed their snows upon his head. 
Lengthened furrows are plowed deep in his cheeks. 
His eye has lost its fire and his countenance its fresh- 
ness. His once firm and manly voice is tremulous 
and faltering. His once rugged frame is bowed down, 
and with his tottering step proclaims the ra2:)id ad- 
vance of the great leveler of life. He still slakes his 
thirst at the spring, and his little garden furnishes 
most of the necessaries to prolong his existence. Oc- 
casionally — seldom, however, — he ventures forth and 
procures a little milk, or sugar, or bread, to eke out 
his scanty store. Little, indeed, it is that he needs. 
His neighbors, distant though they are, are kind to 
him, and what he asks, he does not ask in vain. 



THE HEEMTT. 323 

Blunt he may appear to courtly men, but there are 
in his conversation, yet traceable, the remains of for- 
mer courtliness and grace. 

In early life, he had received a good education, and 
started in his career with as fair prospects as any 
among us. lie had a kind, indulgent father, who 
doated on him, and a tender mother, whose love was 
ceaseless. Then what should have led a young man 
thus surrounded, the hopeful son of rejoicing parents, 
and the object of affection to brothers and sisters, to 
cast himself loose from the world, and choose the sol- 
itude of a rocky, cavernous forest, beautiful and ro- 
mantic in itself though it might be, rather than the 
hallowed joys and sterling comforts of society, and 
the real pleasures incident to domestic life ? Of this, 
a tale may be told, a lesson may be learned, a moral 
may be gleaned. 

When young, he loved to steal away from his com- 
panions, and alone, feast his mind on the wild beau- 
ties of nature, and brood, in his imagination, over the 
fanciful stream of his existence, which only mirrored 
forth those faint images of reality that often so soon 
fade away into the dark shadows of oblivion. His 
youthful visions of fair, false and exciting life, deep- 
ened with the increase of years, but in the end dead- 
ened every faculty of his nature. And as the wild, 
majestic thoughts of our boldest moments kindled by 
exaggeration, excitement and ambition, sink again to 
the cold level of obscurity, so his notions of the ideal, 
infinitely exceeded the events unraveled by the work- 



324 THE HERMIT. 

ings of stern, iindeviating reality. He could not al- 
ways spend his hours in listless dreams, or continually 
substitute fancy sketches for things of substance. 
They were too airy and evanescent for endurance. 
There were returning seasons for soberness and reflec- 
tion. As well might the quivering aspen remain 
q^net in the storm, or the pearly dew linger on the 
green leaves of spring at noonday, as that human 
exertion should be forever on the rack, pursuing base- 
less phantoms, as fanciful and exciting as false. The 
promising future, the ever present, will certainly 
bring their visions, their hopes, their cares, their la- 
bors, and their loves ; but with the past is blotted 
out the labors of progressive time. Dead, indeed, 
must be the soul whose lively faculties are stagnant, 
incapable of grasping, with unflinching hand, the 
thread of life, lacking resolution dextrously to unravel 
the tangled web of its brief existence in its earthly 
tabernacle. 

The young man grew more attached to the indolent 
routine of the solitary economy in the atmosphere of 
which he delighted to dwell. He rejoiced in every 
opportunity to deliver himself from interruption, in 
any form, in his favorite occupation. His dreamy, 
indolent, retiring manner finally led him into a dilem- 
ma from which he in vain strove to extricate himself, 
and which in the sequel proved his ruin. 

In the neighborhood of his home lived a bright- 
eyed, flaxen-haired girl, whose deliglit on all favora- 
ble occasions it was, to torment the grown-up youths of 



THE HERMIT. 325 

her acquaintance. She seemed to he created expressly 
for trifling, coquetry and jesting, and naturally be- 
came the actual dread of all the bashful beaux of the 
country. A freak came over her fancy that the hero 
of our tale should be made to writhe under the 
scathing effects of her archness and duplicity. With 
many defects of character, she yet possessed wit and 
talents, and there was a simplicity and shrewdness in 
her manner, that made her quite an agreeable com- 
panion. A sort of quasi attachment, heartlessly cul- 
tivated on her part, sprang up between them. With 
him it was a reality ; his affections were riveted, and 
everything passed on pleasantly, in joy and in hope. 
Every day strengthened his attachment, till it ripened 
to perfect adoration. But the tender passion was not 
reciprocated. With her, it was a slender tie which 
any convenient opportunity could snap a thousand 
times without doing violence to her conscience. She 
often smiled, but never sighed. She often professed 
in the gayest humor the regard she had for her devo- 
ted lover, but never cast about in earnest, to sound 
the inmost recesses of her heart, to know if the mat- 
ter was a shadow or a substance, a truth or a fiction. 
He only thought of entertaining her with the fe- 
vered visions of his morbid imagination. The bab- 
bling brook, with its merry cascade ; the old oak 
trees, with their giant branches ; the golden sunset, 
with its fleecy clouds ; and the summer evening, with 
its starry lamps, possessed enough of interest to excite 
the erratic imaginings of his peculiar genius, and to 



THE HEBMTT. 



furnish aliment sufficient for his moody spirit. The 
peculiarities of her mind deprived her of the faculty 
of appreciating his tastes, and of assimilating her 
feelings with his. She listened attentively to his fer- 
vid descriptions of wild scenery and his melancholy 
sarcasms upon men and their pursuits. But whatever 
impression they made upon her fancy, they made none 
upon her heart. With her there was a limit to every 
tender sentiment, a chain to every softened thought 
that rose voluntarily to her bosom. In every thing 
there was a marked difference between the two. 
He was sober, grave, severe and visionary, with little 
of reality in his composition. His love was not sim- 
ple enough to exact sympathy in return, nor com- 
manding enough to ensure the hope of requital. IN'ei- 
ther was it compounded of the subtle elements 
adapted to captivate. She was gay, romantic and 
bewitching, and her whole course was calculated to 
steal the regard of others rather than to enkindle or 
encourage any abiding sentiment of affection in her 
own bosom. Time rolled on, while he lived on in 
hope, and she in that uncertain, equivocal condition 
which admits of the most easy accommodation to 
circumstances. 

At length he resolved to make a formal declaration 
of the tender passion that had long agitated his breast. 
When he told her that he loved her Avith a love that 
left no room for words to tell, he felt assured that 
the timid expression he had anticipated did not man- 
tle her face, nor did a blush of satisfaction crimson 



THE HERMIT. 327 

her cheek, or a sigh of modest assent escape her lips. 
There was neither a show of disapprobation, nor dis- 
appointment, nor wounded pride depicted upon her 
countenance. She had listened to his tale of love 
with profound, attention. His words were indelibly 
impressed on the tablet of her memory. But for all 
that, there was no response from the heart. A smile 
of pity, mingled with contempt, played over her fea- 
tures. An arch gaze fixed with melancholy intense- 
ness upon the discarded lover, conveying rejection 
and denial more plainly than words could do, inflicted 
a wound from which it was impossible for him to re- 
cover. A gay, derisive laugh fell from the soft lips 
of the maid, which plainly foreboded the issue of his 
destiny. They separated, and from that day forward 
he saw her face no more. 

There came a sorrow over him, bitter as the waters 
of affliction could make it. He felt that there existed 
no world but the little spot on which she breathed 
and moved, but that was forbidden ground. All his 
visionary schemes and reflections at once vanished. 
He felt hardened in the mould of calamity. IS'o- 
thing could be offered to console his troubled mind 
— to heal his broken heart. 'No dreams of happiness 
calmed his sleepless nights, or bright prospects of the 
future cheered his lonely days. The past had anni- 
hilated every spark of joy, hope and ambition. It 
had obliterated all regard for those hallowed blessings 
counted most dear to man. Even life itself liung 
heavy in its citadel, as if ready to misemploy its last 



328 THE HEKlVnT. 

functions in wresting itself from an over-burthen ed 
body. With nervous restlessness, he moved from 
place to place, and thought nothing so desolate as the 
society of man. 

He had seen much to hate and abhor in the treach- 
ery of pretended friends. He fell a prey to mortifi- 
cation, distrust and hatred. Then came agony and 
despair, desolation and ruin. He felt himself crushed, 
broken and undone. Everything of worldly conse- 
quence to him became vague, vehement and wild. At 
once were annihilated all the gay and fleeting visions 
his youthful fancy had pictured of the time to come. 
In their place were reared new fabrics of a cold and 
superficial philosophy, which he had formerly bor- 
rowed from retirement, and nurtured in seclusion, 
but which he now adopted as the perfect wisdom of 
solitude. In this melancholy mood he mused of no- 
thing else, nor thought of happiness beyond. His 
brow became contracted and gloom}^ He returned 
no salutations of his friends. He felt the most per- 
fect indifi'erence for every grade of humanity. Even 
old age and infancy could not escape his malevolence 
and malignity. In short, he became a perfect misan- 
thrope, and at such distance did he hold the whole 
human family, that society had no place — no charms 
that he could endure. In this state of despondency, 
he rashly resolved to become a very recluse, and dole 
out a miserable existence in seclusion, dejected, piti- 
able and comfortless ; shut out from all but the hum- 



THE HERMIT. 329 

blest raiment, the coarsest food, and the free air and 
light of heaven. 

He selected for his home the locality above de- 
scribed. For nearly thirty years he has made it his 
lonely abode. For about that period he has been 
known as ^''TTie HermiV Occasionaly we have vis- 
ited his sad cell. Any one having tlie curiosity to 
see the dwelling-place of so singular a character, the 
mouldering, decaying wreck of what has been, and 
what might be still — the perfect desolation of perish- 
ing humanity — forlorn and fallen to the most sor- 
rowful depth of voluntary misery — the abject being 
whose history we have but faintly delineated — may 
find the living original in all the gloominess, singu- 
larity, hopelessness and poverty we have described, 

" In starving solitude ; while Luxury 

In palaces, lies straining her low thoughts, 

To form unreal wants : " 

There he may find the full confirmation of the truth 
of this history, and more. There, too, he may learn 
that the wants of vain, voluptuous man, when cir- 
cumscribed to their narrowest limits, are indeed few. 
That '* the pomps and vanities of this wicked world " 
sink into insignificance, and are scarcely worth j)ur- 
suing, and that, in the great day of account, he may 
be found richer, wiser and happier than they. 

His humble habitation in the romantic dell, sur- 
rounded by woods and rocks, embellished with the 



330 THE HEKMIT. 

gay garden and the gushing spring, may easily be 
found on lot number seventy-seven, two miles north 
of Manlius Village, Onondaga county. 
He lives there still— "TAe EermitP 



|^iinli0t{s. 



BARON STEUBEN. 

" He gave his honors to the world again, 
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace." 

Shakspeare's King Henry VIII. 

In the year 1794, there was much excitement 
among the settlers of Onondaga county, on account 
of a threatened invasion from the Western Indians. 
The alarm was so great, and immediate danger so ap- 
parent, that many prudent persons buried their most 
valuable effects. To such a height were the fears of 
the people excited, that it was confidently believed 
the settlements in the vicinity of Onondaga would be 
broken up. During this state of affairs Gov. Clinton, 
about the middle of May, dispatched Gen. William 
North, Gen. Stephen Yan Rensselaer, Gen. David 
Van Home, and Baron Steuben, who had been re- 
cently appointed special commissioners by the Legis- 
lature of New York, to provide for the defense of the 
western frontier, and to erect such fortifications as 
they should deem necessary for the public safety. 
Twelve thousand pounds had been appropriated by 



332 B.iKON STEUBEN. 

tlie Legislature to defray any expenses thus made. 
The commissioners repaired to ''Salt Point^'^ and 
with the advice of a ''•' committee of safety," consist- 
ing of Messrs. De Witt, Yan Yleck, Orman, Phares 
and Danforth, advised the erection of a " block 
house" at that place. The militia of the county 
were called out and reviewed by the commissioners, 
and active measures taken for the protection of the 
frontier. On their return, the commissioners spent 
the night at the house of Mr. John A. Shaeffer, " Inn- 
keeper," in Manlius village. The guests were con- 
siderably fatigued with their journey and the labors 
of their important trust, and retired early to rest. 
Durinc: the nidit there seemed to be an unusual stir 
about the house, and as the hour of midnight ap- 
proached, it still increased, and before morning trans-, 
pired one of those unpostponable events incident to 
all prosperous and increasing families. The baron 
was greatly annoyed during the night, so that he 
scarcely slept a wink. The frequent shutting of 
doors, continued tramping of busy feet, and hushed 
sounds of female voices, which were greatly magni- 
fied by the baron's nervousness, and the importance 
of progressing events, kept his mind in a continual 
tumult. 

The house was built of logs, only one story high, 
with two rooms below ; the chamber being the whole 
size of the house, with only loose boards for a floor, 
and accessible by no other means than a ladder. 
This chamber was occupied by the distinguished 



BARON STEUBEN. 333 

guests of Mr. Shaefier. The companions of the hero 
of this tale slept soundly, and were not at all dis- 
turbed in their dreams. It was not so with the baron. 
He often turned himself upon his bed of straw, seeking 
rest yet finding none, continually wondering what on 
earth could excite such wonderful commotion below. 
He tossed about in nervous wakefulness, and finally 
worked himself into an almost uncontrollable passion, 
which could scarcely be restrained till morning. On 
the earliest approach of light, the baron rose, still in 
his rage, vowing vengeance on all below. He ap- 
proached the redoubtable landlord in not the most 
agreeable humor, saying, " Your house is full of gos- 
sips and goblins, sir; I haven't slept a wink all the 
blessed night. You have a pack of dogs about you, 
noisy enough to deafen one. Sir, I repeat: your 
house is full of gossips and goblins. Sir, your house 
is n't fit to stable swine. Give us breakfast; let us 
be off as soon as possible, and we 'II not soon trouble 
you again." The baron's rage was at its height. 
Mine host was perfectly dumfounded before his en- 
raged and angry guest, and dared not so much as lift 
his head, or even hint at the cause of the disturbance 
during the night. The more considerate companions 
of the baron heartily sympathized with him in his 
troubles, and were ready to excuse their host, but it 
had only the effect to add fuel to the flame, and in- 
crease his rage. In the height of the storm which 
had already spent much of its fury, as if to afford re- 
lief and calm the rending elements, a woman cau- 



834: BARON STEUBEN. 

tiously and timorously approached the angry baron, 
who was still breathing forth threatenings, bearing 
in her arms a little infant wrapped in swaddling 
clothes, which had not yet witnessed the setting of ? 
single sun, saying, " Here, Sir Baron, is the cause of 
all the trouble and noise last night." The gallant 
old soldier instantly felt the impropriety of his con- 
duct ; his habitual good humor was instantly re- 
stored, his accustomed gallantry prompted him, at 
once, handsomely to apologize, at the same time beg- 
ging ten thousand pardons of those around him. He 
tendered his most hearty congratulations to Mr. and 
Mrs. Shaeffer, and offered as an atonement for the 
wrong he had done, to bestow his own name upon 
the new visitant, which offer was joyfully accepted, 
and forthwith the baron drew a deed of ^ifi for 
two hundred and fifty acres of land, from his domain 
in Oneida county, and after breakfast with his 
friends, went on his way rejoicing. 

There is often a singularity in the closing scenes 
of the lives of distinguished men. It may not be un- 
worthy of remark here, that Frederick "William Au- 
gustus, Baron de Steuben, once an Aid-de-camp to 
Frederick the Great, King of Prussia ; Quarter-mas- 
ter-General ; Chevalier of the Order of Merit ; Grand 
Marshal of the Court of Hohenzollen ; Colonel in the 
Circle of Suabia ; Knight of the Order of Fidelity ; 
Commander-in-chief of the armies of the Prince of 
Baden; Major-General in the armies of the United 
States, and Inspector-General of the same — the fortu- 



BAEON STEUBEN. 335 

nate soldier of fifty battles, an admirer of freedom, 
the friend of Washington, the man of virtue, fidelity, 
and honor — performed his last military service in re- 
viewing a few score of unarmed, half-clad militia, and 
in selecting a site for a llock-hoiise^ for the defense of 
the frontier of New York, in the county of Onon- 
daga, at Salt Pointy in 1794:. The baron died at his 
residence in Steuben, Oneida county, November, 
1795. 



THE HOK. SECRETARY'S MISTAKE. 

DuEiNG tlie war of 1812 with England, the frontier 
of ]^ew York was more exposed to invasion than 
that of any other state. The people were often 
alarmed by the notes of preparation for war. The 
militia were frequently called out, and the citizen sol- 
diers became as familiar with the perils and priva- 
tions of the camp, as with the details of their own 
domestic employments. From Buffalo to Ogdens- 
burgh, there was scarcely a harbor or village but had 
been visited by the enemy, and became the scene of 
carnage and bloody strife. The bright, blue waters 
of the great lakes were crimsoned by the blood of 
contending forces, and the moans of the harsh,rough 
waves were lulled by the louder and more bitter wail 
of the dying. It might be supposed that every man 
in the country was perfectly familiar with the geog- 
raphy of the frontier, and every foot of it thoroughly 
explored. Exemption from invasion was in a meas- 
ure the safety of the republic. A perfect knowledge 
of every detail and minor point, was to be expected 
from those high in authority — holding in their hands 
the destinies of a mighty nation. In this particular, 
it was not so. 



337 

In 1813, Nicholas Mickles, of Onondaga, was em- 
ployed by the United States Government, to furnish 
a large quantity of round shot and shells for the army 
and navy of the frontier. Ilis order had been filled 
according to stipulation. The materiel was ready for 
delivery, and lying at the ^'Onondaga Furnace," two 
miles and a half south of Salina. It was with regard 
to this government property, that the Hon. Secretary 
Armstrong committed the mistake, which was noticed 
at the time in most of the public prints in the Union. 
The shot and shells were wanted at Oswego, to be dis- 
tributed at different points on Lake Ontario. The 
Hon. Secretary ordered Commodore Chauncey, the 
naval commander on the lake, to proceed forthwith, 
with an armed vessel, via the Oswego River, to Onon- 
daga Hollow, and remove the government property 
from that place to Oswego. Of course the order could 
not be obeyed. The thing was impossible. The ob- 
structions at Oswego Falls were quite too formidable 
to allow of its execution ; and the overland route, 
(had the first obstruction been overcome,) would have 
interposed obstacles still more hazardous to a vessel 
of war, plowing green-sward and a scrub-oak plain, 
instead of its own appropriate element. The joke 
was too good to be kept a secret, and its publication 
created, at the time, much merriment, at the Hon. 
Secretary's expense. 

O 22 



PERILS OF TRAVEL. 

Like many other of the pioneers of this country, 
Mr. Oliver Stevens endured severe privations, and 
was a participant in many startling incidents and ad- 
ventures. On one occasion, in the month of March, 
1792, he resolved to attend the town meeting of the 
town of Mexico, held that year at what is now called 
Pulaski. He started off early in the morning, with 
his gun in hand and a knapsack of provisions on his 
back. There was no road, nor scarcely a path. He 
relied mainly on his skill as a woodsman, on the few 
Hazed trees that were as uncertain guides, and on his 
knowledge of courses from the position of the sun, to 
guide him safely through his journey. He traveled 
on, unconscious of harm till near the middle of the af- 
ternoon, when suddenly he found himself beset by a 
pack of hungry wolves. By their howling he was 
aroused not only to a sense of his danger, but to the 
fact that he had lost his way, and had no means of 
recovering it. He set forward with vigor, in the hope 
of coming out at a ''^ clearing ^^"^ in the vicinity of the 
place of his destination. But his exertions were all 
to no purpose. The more he struggled for relief, the 
more he became convinced of the peril of his situa- 



PEEILS OF TRAVEL. 339 

tion. The wolves gradually drew Dearer and nearer, 
and seemed by their boldness to be meditating an at- 
tack. At length one, bolder than his companions, a 
large black one, advanced to within a few paces of 
him, npon which he fired and killed him at once. The 
scent of the blood of the dead wolf seemed to increase 
the voracity of the survivors, and for a time ho 
thought he should in turn be slain. Xotliing daunted, 
he stood at bay, looking the hungry pack firmly in 
the eyes. After a while they retired to a respectful 
distance, sitting around on their haunches, as if hold- 
ing a council of war. During this cessation of hos- 
tilities, Mr. Stevens struck a fire and kindled it, re- 
loaded his gun, and sallied forth, dragging the dead 
wolf by the heels to his fiery fortress. At this stage 
of the affair it seemed as if the fury of the wolves was 
ungovernable. They approached very near to him, 
growling and snapping their jaws in the most deter- 
mined fury. He stamped, hallooed, shouted, and cast 
burning brands among them, until they finally disap- 
peared. Upon this, he added fuel to the fire, got up 
a bright light, and began to feel somewhat safe. His 
next business was to secure the skin of his conquered 
foe, which was soon efi'ected. By this time it became 
quite dark. A quantity of fuel was gathered to keep 
up the light during the long and dreary night that 
was to succeed. Here the solitary wanderer stood, 
not daring to refresh himself with sleep. He was 
frequently greeted with howls from the wolves roam- 
ing round in the darkness, who seemed unwilling to 



34:0 PERILS OF TRAVEL. 

reiinquish their right to make a meal of him, yet had 
not the courage to take it. Towards morning he was 
relieved from his anxiety by the retreat of the wolves, 
who left, and disturbed him no more. He now pre- 
pared a hasty meal at the fire, partook of it, and con- 
cluded to retrace his steps. Packing up his wolf- 
skin, he proceeded homeward. The sun rose to me- 
ridian, and still he traveled on. Night came, and 
for ought he could tell, he was no nearer home than 
when he started in the morning. Being weary with 
his day's journey, he again kindled a fire, laid him- 
self down to rest, and slept soundly till the morrow. 
At early dawn he again set forward in quest of home, 
and about ten o'clock in the morning, to his indes- 
cribable joy, discovered the British flag flying from 
the fort at Oswego. The officers of the garrison, to 
whom he related his adventure, treated him with 
great kindness. With them he spent the remainder 
of the day, and next morning set out with a light 
heart for home. The day following — the fifth from 
his departure — he arrived gladly to his family, who 
had become seriously alarmed for his safety. The 
bounty then paid by the State for killing a full-grown 
wolf was forty dollars, which in due time he received. 
This in some degree proved a balm for his sufierings, 
but for which, he would not again encounter the dan- 
gers he had risked. 



THE FRIGHTENED BOATMEX. 

The Oneida Lake and River anciently formed a 
part of the great liighway for the transportation of 
heavy goods, and the adventures of the jolly boatmen 
were not few nor uninteresting. One in particular at 
this time claims our attention. 

In the year 1794, while Mr. Stevens and his family 
were at dinner, in their residence at Brewerton, a 
man came running to the door, almost breathless with 
fright. Water was dripping from his clothes, his feet 
" chuokecV^ in his boots at every step, and his shiver- 
ing limbs and stammering voice proclaimed suffering 
and distress. It was some considerable time before 
the terrified Canadian could recover himself suf- 
ficiently to relate his story. At length, however, he 
became a little composed, and with a trembling voice 
said, that he and a companion had been attacked by 
a bear in the river, and driven from their boat. He 
feared the bear would kill his friend, and wished Mr. 
Stevens to go instantly with his gun and kill the mon- 
ster. The man applied to in this dilemma, started up 
at once, re-primed his rifle, and ran witli all pos- 
sible dispatch for the scene of the disaster. When 
arrived, they found the remaining man on shore, 
wet through and through in every thread, moaning 



342 THE FRIGHTENED BOATMEN. 

in the bitterest anguish, the hardness of his lot. The 
fact was, as the two boatmen were leisurely rowing 
up the river, the bear at the same time attempted to 
swim across. Upon seeing the bear, the boatmen re- 
solved at once to have some sport, to intercept his 
course, and capture him. They rowed along side, 
and aimed a blow at Bruin's head, who popped under 
water, evading it, and before they could recover them- 
selves, he scrambled over the side of the boat, and 
without ceremony drove the astonished Canadians into 
the river. They were forced to swim for their lives, 
and both finally safely reached shore. Making a 
virtue of necessity, one ran for help, while the other 
watched the boat and its new occupant. On the ar-. 
rival of Mr. Stevens at the scene of action, his bear- 
ship was majestically seated at the stern of the boat, 
calmly surveying the scene, quietly floating down the 
sluggish current, as dignified and undisturbed as a 
king upon his throne. A shot from Mr. Stevens' rifle 
bereft the monarch of his titles and his life at once. 
The boatmen swam to the boat and rowed up to the 
landing. When the prize was dressed, it was found 
to exceed three hundred pounds in weight. This 
seasonable trophy was placed to good account, for it 
served instead of pork for the family and the hungry 
boatmen who passed that route, for many a day. But 
the poor frightened boatmen had a double reason to 
be thankful for their escape, and probably never for- 
got their adventure with the bear. 



RATTLESNAKES. 

At the time of the first settlement of the country, 
these venomous reptiles were very numerous in many 
localities. Tliey occasionally strayed away from their 
favorite haunts, and in summer time were pretty ge- 
nerally scattered over the country. In those days it 
was no uncommon thing for rattlesnakes to crawl into 
people's houses, and coil themselves up snugly in the 
corners of the old fashioned fire-places. Frequently 
they worked their way between the beds of uncon- 
scious lodgers, to gather warmth, and the first inti- 
mation of their presence would be upon the removal 
of the pillow in the morning, the finding a huge fel- 
low slowly uncoil himself and gently slide away 
through tlie cracks in the floor, or between the crevi- 
ces of the logs of the humble dwelling. It was sel- 
dom they did harm unless irritated and provoked. 

In such superstitious veneration did the Indians 
hold these poisonous creatures, and with such reli- 
gious awe did they pass them by, that none were de- 
stroyed by them, but they were suffered to increase 
unmolested. The rattlesnake and the Indian were 
always on terms of perfect intimacy — the snake 



3tl:4 RATTLESNAKES. 

rarely injuring the Indian — lie never molesting the 
snake. 

An incident or two may exhibit some of the singu- 
lar propensities of these poisonous reptiles — their 
harmlessness when unprovoked, and the virulence of 
their bite. One of the earliest settlers at Salina once 
related to us the following : 

One bright morning in May, the family ^vere sud- 
denly alarmed by the loud and unusual cackling of 
fowls about the door. Upon looking out, the mother 
discovered an enormous rattlesnake, which, as oppor- 
tunity offered, with great fixmiliarity and composure, 
thrust his head into a basin from which a little son, 
seated on the grass, was eating bread and milk. The 
snake evidently enjoyed the repast with great satis- 
faction, and with a peculiar relish. When the snake 
became too greedy, he was severely beaten on the 
head with a spoon by the child, but never offered the 
slierhtest resistance or resentment. Around the child 
and its subtle companion were gathered a flock of 
fowls who were making the most clamorous ado, and 
evidently, by voice and action, were in the wildest 
consternation — especially an old cock who had al- 
ready placed himself in the attitude of battle. As 
may be supposed, the mother was in the most frantic 
state of excitement and dread. Calling loudly for 
help, the male portion of the family ran out, and the 
father walked deliberately up to the child and re- 
moved it to a place of safety. At this, the snake ex- 
hibited marked symptoms of dislike, and at once 



RATTLESNAKES. 345 

placed himself in an attitude of defense; but a well- 
directed stroke from a club settled the account with 
the intruder, leaving a deadly balance against him. 

Although when approached with care these poi- 
sonous serpents were comparatively harmless, still, 
there are many instances known where their bites, 
provoked by accident or design, have proved fatal. 

The burrows or dens of these reptiles were usually 
made in sand knolls having a southern inclination. 
In spring, as warm weather approached, they came 
forth from their hiding places, where they had re- 
mained dormant during the winter, in a very emacia- 
ted condition — languid and inactive. At that season 
companies were frequently formed for their destruc- 
tion, as they could then be approached without dan- 
ger. Several hundred would sometimes be killed 
with clubs in an afternoon, as they lay motionless 
basking in the sun. On one of these occasions, in the 
year 1792, one of a party of this kind, took a large 
rattlesnake upon a split stick, and thrust him into a 
hollow stump. Soon after, he put in with him a live 
toad. The two lived through the summer in perfect 
amity ; neither of them could escape if he would. 
In the fall they were both taken out alive and well, 
having lived without tasting anything but what had 
accidentally fallen in their way. A little dog ran up 
to the snake and commenced barking; almost in- 
stantly the reptile snapped him on the nose, making 
only a very slight mark. The adventurous dog gave 
one agonizing yelp — one convulsive gasp, and expired. 
O* 



346 RATTLESNAKES. 

An instance lias been related to us of an Indian 
who inadvertently trod upon one of these deadly ser- 
pents, from which he received a severe bite in the 
leg, and before the venomous beast could extricate 
his poisonous fongs, the Indian seized it by the neck, 
and like one who kows no fear in the certainty of ap- 
proaching death, placed the head of the snake be- 
tween his teeth, and with one determined grip, sev- 
ered it from the body, casting it forth exultingly. 
Certain that no earthly antidote could avail to save 
him, the savage with great composure, in the face of 
unavoidable dissolution, scooped out a deep hole in 
the ground, settled himself into it, and with his hands 
so far as possible, covered himself with loose earth, 
leaving but little more than his head above ground. 
In this situation, with the most stoical indifference he 
calmly awaited the certain hour of death. His limbs 
and body soon swelled to so enormous an extent that 
his skin stretched beyond its utmost tension, burst, 
and his wild spirit fled to its long home, amidst the 
most excruciating pains. 

It was no uncommon thing for women in those 
days, to assault and kill these dangerous visitors 
whenever they came in their way. Many a resolute 
matron of those sterner times, has, with heroic bold- 
ness, dealt death and destruction to these unwelcome 
disturbers of their peace, sometimes alighting from 
on horseback to give them battle by tlie way, not 
giviug time or opportunity for "her seed" to bruise 
the serpent's head. 



RAri'LESNAKES. 347 

About the first of June these reptiles shed their 
skins, and hundreds were frequently picked up and 
made playthings of by the boys. The perfect, entire 
form of the snake, even to the nose, eyes and rattles, 
were as distinct as upon the living animal. 



THE LOG-CABIN LIBRARY. 

When the country was new and but few settlers 
had permanently located themselves, a well dressed, 
gentlemanly looking man, who was seeking a suita- 
ble location for a farm, stopped one evening about 
sunset at the cabin of a Mr. Benedict. After a short 
and familiar conversation relative to lands that might 
be for sale, he involuntarily rose to depart. Casting 
his eyes around the room, which was not exceedingly 
well lighted, he noticed something in an old fash- 
ioned cupboard, that in the uncertain twilight, he 
fancied to be long rows of books — a very fine com- 
mencement for a library. Upon this rare sight, so 
congenial to his taste, he rapturously exclaimed "I 
had no idea that there could be so fine and extensive a 
library in this new country. It looks for all the world 
like the book-shelves of my native New England. 
Xor had I at all entertained the idea that any of the 
new settlers possessed so much refined literary taste 
as is here exhibited in a gloomy wilderness." And 
suiting the action to the word, he very deliberately 
walked up to the cupboard, with the full intent of 
more closely examining the contents of the works 
thus opportunely brought to view. But, gracious 



THE LOG-CABIN LIBRAKT. 349 

heavens ! who could portray his disappointment and 
astonishment, when upon a close inspection he found, 
instead of the reputed authors of antiquity — the clas- 
sics of the past, with those of the present — nothing 
more nor less than several tempting rows of " Johnny 
calces^'' carefully arranged on end, presenting to his 
exuberant fancy, the imposing appearance of an ex- 
tensive and well arranged library. "Ah! " said he, 
with excessive mortification and chagrin, " I really 
thought they were books." 



STRANGE FORGETFULNESS. 

At the close of a beautiful autumnal afternoon, near 
fifty years ago, a tall, well dressed man, mounted upon 
an elegant horse, carelessly reined up to the " x.^n," 
then kept by Col. Eli Parsons, of " Shay's Kebellion" 
memory, and asked lodgings for the night. " Mine 
host " was a very obsequious man, yet, like many 
others of his occupation, was rather more inquisitive 
than was at all times agreeable, especially to those on 
business requiring secrec}'- or dispatch. The stranger 
was unsocial and reserved, and evidently desired pri- 
vacy and seclusion. Besides, there was a kind of 
hauteur in his. bearing which awakened much curios- 
ity among the tenants of the inn, and proved conclu- 
sively to the prying landlord, that his guest was a 
man of consequence and deserving his most assiduous 
attentions. It was whispered among the villagers 
who dropped in during the evening, that the- gentle- 
man must be some government agent, or perhaps a 
United States officer. It was agreed on all hands 
that he must be a man far above tlie ordinar}^ rank. 
Our inn-keeper ventured to accost him by a variety of 
titles, such as colonel, general, judge, esquire, &c., 
which the stranger acknowledged with the most 
equivocal coolness. Various expedients were re- 



STRANGE FORGETFULNESS. 361 

sorted to, whereby to draw sometliing from him to 
furnish a clew to his name, business, or place of resi- 
dence, but all to no purpose. Upon all these points 
he was perfectly impenetrable. He retired early to 
rest, and left the landlord and his friends involved in 
a mist of perplexity and conjecture. The inn-keeper 
and his attendants passed a wakeful night, and the 
whole household were awakened to a sense of the 
stranger's consequence. But when he arose, the same 
impenetrable mystery shrouded his movements, the 
same immovable gravity pervaded his countenance. 
The case hourly grew more and more hopeless and 
desperate. But mine host, not to be frustrated in his 
plans, resolved that, at all hazards, he would at least 
know the name of his guest. At length the hour of his 
departure arrived, but no opportunity had presented 
itself for ascertaining the all important secret. His 
horse was saddled and brought to the door, his heavy 
portmanteau adjusted ; the hostler held the bridle, 
another attendant the stirrup ; the stranger vaulted 
into the saddle, carft'nlly buttoned up his surtout, laid 
his hands upon the reins, and drew them up. The 
inn-keeper had exhausted his entire stock of resour- 
ces, without the least shadow of success ; the last mo- 
ment had arrived, and unless improved, his anxious 
desires could never be satisfied. Forbearance be- 
came no longer a virtue. At length, in a very sub- 
dued tone, with that peculiar air of polite subservi- 
ency so characteristic of the inn-keepers of those days, 
he ventured to say — " My dear sir, you have been a 



352 STRANGE forgetful:nes8. 

very acceptable visitor with us, and I should be ex- 
tremely happy to have yon call, on your return. But, 
in the mean time, I should be highly gratified to 
know your name, that I may inform my friends who 
I have had the honor to entertain. Will you be kind 
enough to give me your name ? " The stranger sud- 
denly dropped his reins, clapped his hands upon his 
hips, hung down his head, as if in a profound study, 
remaining perfectly motionless and silent for several 
minutes ; then starting suddenly from his reverie, he 
replied : " Well, sir, I had a name when I arrived 
here, I am sure of it ; but in my efibrts to evade your 
inquisitiveness, I have forgotten it ! — excuse me, sir, 
I have actually forgotten it. But, I am going west, 
and if I can possibly recollect it, I will write and in- 
form you." Then bowing most respectfully, he bade 
his astonished host good morning. To the wondering 
landlord this was a poser. The stranger had gone, 
and l^ft no trace behind. 

Sometime after this event, and after the story of 
the mysterious stranger had been quite forgotten by 
all except the colonel and those of his house, the fol- 
lowing note came to the post-office at Manlius, ad- 
dressed to Col. Eli Parsons : 

" Dear sir — Upon leaving you on the morning of 
, I told you, should I be so fortunate as to recol- 
lect my name, I would write you. I consider myself 
truly fortunate in recalling it, for there is nothing so 
embarrassing to a man, as to be unable, when called 



STRANGE F0RGETFULNES8. 353 

Upon, to give his name. You are, dear sir, most re- 
spectfully welcome to mine. 

"Stephen Burroughs." 
Fifty years ago, Stephen Burroughs, the notorious 
counterfeiter, was as distinguished a character as any 
of infemous notoriety of modem times. 



JACK AND THE MILL. 

On a time, Gen. Danfortli was journeying eastward 
on horseback. He stopped over night at the public 
house kept by a man named Shoemaker, at " Herki- 
mer Flats." During the evening a colored man came 
to him and said, "Won't you buy me, massa?" 
"What is your name?" "Jack Shoemaker, sir." 
" Well, Jack, can you tend mill ? I have a mill, and 
I want a smart man to tend it." " O, yes, massa, me 
learn quick ; me know how to work in mill now, mas- 
sa." Through Jack's importunity a bargain was con- 
cluded with his master, and Jack, laden with a wal- 
let of provisions, and a letter of introduction to his 
new mistress, was sent forward on foot to Onondaga 
Hollow. He was instructed to inform her, that he 
belonged to Massa Danforth, and she would introduce 
him to the mill in which their corn was ground. Jack 
made all possible diligence, for he was in ecstasies at 
the idea of being promoted to the station of a miller, 
and in due time arrived at the Hollow. He stood a 
long time looking at the house, doubting whether it 
could be the right place. Everything answered the 
description exactly, except, there was no building tow- 
ering up to Jack's notions of a mill. He therefore 



JACK AND THE MILL. 355 

trudged on to the next neighbor's, eighteen miles 
west, to the house of Josiah Buck. He showed his 
letter of introduction to Mrs. Buck, who quickly 
judged his mistake, kindly kept him till morning, 
when she set him on the road back again, charging 
him to stop at the house by the creek, which was the 
right One. Jack returned, was cordially received at 
his new home, but was extremely anxious to be in- 
stalled in the mill. The reader must judge of the 
poor fellow's consternation when told, that the only 
mill in the country was in that large oak stump, in 
front of the door, with a huge pestle attached to a 
sweep, and he could ''^ nigger''^ away there to his 
heart's content. 

At that early day, many of the ablest and most 
worthy inhabitants held colored persons as slaves, 
whose duty it was invariably made, to pound the 
corn — a task of no ordinary accomplishment. Hence 
the origin of the term " niggering corn^'' now obsolete. 



QUEER TODDY. 

In the years 1792-3, General Danforth erected the 
first mills in Onondaga county, on the Butternut 
Creek, the site now occupied by Kobert Dunlap, Esq. 
The workmen on foot brought all the necessary gear- 
ing for the mills, from Utica ; and Indians were em- 
ployed to bring the nails. General D. himself trans- 
ported the sa\t on his shoulders. No boards were 
used in the county until sawed at these mills, except 
in a very few instances, when they were brought from 
Herkimer. The saw-mill was at first covered with 
hemlock bark. The work of building the grist-mill 
proceeded much more expeditiously than that of the 
saw-mill. One of the greatest inconveniences was, 
that there was no road by which to bring on the 
stones, bolt and other bulky and heavy articles. All 
obstacles were eventually overcome. Hands were 
hired as far off as Utica and Whitestown. It took 
more than a week to complete the raising, which was 
attended by all the able-bodied representatives from 
every settlement within twenty-five miles around. 
Bark huts were erected for their accommodation, and 
so great was the anxiety of the inhabitants of the sur- 
rounding country to have these mills completed, that 
many labored without pay. After the raising, the 



QUEER TODDY. 357 

whole number present formed a line, and mustered 
sixty-four, all told. At the raising, the old-fashioned 
practice of using strong drink was followed. The 
article used at this time was St. Croix rum. Whisky 
was not then known. The flowing bowl had passed 
freely, and the spirits of all were buoyant. At the 
conclusion of the labors of raising, it was resolved to 
have the sharpness of the liquor modified by the ad- 
dition of sweetening. Molasses and sugar were ea- 
gerly inquired for, but such was the scarcity of these 
commodities, that they were sought for in vain. 
Black-strap, sling, egg-nog, punch and toddy, were 
not to be had in their usual forms. Nothing daunted, 
they determined on employing a substitute. A con- 
sultation was held as to what it should be. The re- 
sult was, that, as neither sugar, molasses nor honey 
could be procured, Indian meal being the next sweet- 
est substance known in the country, it should be the 
substitute. Accordingly, the rum was mixed with 
Indian meal — the improved beverage flowed freely 
around — all declared it the best the country afforded, 
and it served a three-fold purpose, viz : drink, vict- 
uals, and if freely used, it provided lodgings, also. 



THE BEST SHOT. 

Col. S — — , in his youthful days, was considered a 
first rate shot with a rifle, and no white man ever 
thought of contending with him for the pahn of supe- 
riority. When he first made his acquaintance with 
the Onondagas, he was once passing through the 
woods by an obscure path, with his loaded rifle, 
when to his surprise he was suddenly accosted by a 
tall, rough-clad savage, whom he knew to be unsur- 
passed in the use of his favorite weapon. The con- 
versation soon turned upon the superior merits of 
their respective pieces. He intimated that no In- 
dian of the Onondaga nation could equal him in a 
long shot. Of course, the colonel felt anxious to 
prove himself the better man and more expert marks- 
man of the two. Their talk soon resulted in a chal- 
lenge for a trial of skill, that a doubtful question 
might be forever settled. The Indian, nothing loth, 
though with feigned reluctance, accepted, yet he ex- 
hibited great indifi'erence, and exercised his diplo- 
matic skill in a very facetious manner until all pre- 
liminaries were settled. When this was done, he 
stuck a moderate sized snowball upon the brown bark 
of an old hemlock tree. From this they withdrew 
about one hundred paces. Lots were cast for the first 



THE BEST SHOT. 359 

fire, which fell to the colonel. It was indeed a try- 
ing time, for he was contending for superiority with 
the surest marksman among the red men — for a dis- 
tinction that far exceeds every other quality in a new 
country. Each felt as if it was to affect the destinies 
of their respective races. Full of confidence, without 
the slightest trembling of nerve or quiver of limb, 
the colonel took his position, remarking, " I shall 
beat you." " Me guess not," responded the red-skin, 
proudly, but with a significance that strongly im- 
plied a doubt as to the truth of the colonel's asser- 
tion, and of his ability to make it good. He drew 
up at arm's length and fired, but no sooner had the 
sound of his piece ceased to reverberate, than the 
sharp crack of the Indian's rifle rang through the 

woods. Col. S rushed hurriedly to the mark, 

and at a glance ascertained that both balls had taken 
effect, and that the Indian's had pierced the very cen- 
ter, while his own had lodged near an inch at one 
side. The shots were distinguishable, from their size 
— the Indian's being a trifle the largest. The Indian 
retained his position, deliberately reloaded his gun, 
and by the time the colonel had finished his explora- 
tions, the Indian was at his side. " TJiere^'' said the 
colonel, exultingly, " there^ I have heat you — I have 
heat you^ " Yes^ yes ; oh^yes^ you heat — you heat^'^ 
said the Indian, wuth a sarcastic smile, perfectly 
conscious of his own superior skill ; ''^you heat — you 
heat; hut no heat me shoot. You heat me lying ^ 
that's ally 



360 THE BEST SHOT. 

Although unwilling at the time to acknowledge 
himself beat, the colonel has oftentimes since been 
constrained to do the Indian justice by admitting his 
superior skill in shooting, and his exceedingly sly, 
cunning manner of conveying reproof, in claiming the 
victory, and by expressing admiration of his perfect 
self possession and nonchalance throughout the whole 
affair. 



SCARCITY OF LIXEN. 

In tlie beginning of those trying scenes through 
which our forefathers passed, there was no one tiling 
that weighed so heavily upon the minds of the intel-. 
ligent, as the scanty means afforded for the education 
of their children. The inhabitants were widely scat- 
tered, there were no roads, and the people as a gen- 
eral thing, were too much occupied in clearing off 
the heavy forests, and in securing the means of living, 
to devote, personally, much time to the education of 
their children. After a while, however, log school- 
houses were reared, and competent teachers em- 
ployed, so that in a moderate degree the evil was ob- 
viated. In one of the southern towns of Onondaga 
county, a school-house had been built of rough, un- 
hewn logs. It was the only one in that part of the 
country, and in the winter season it was well tilled 
with youthful pupils from many miles around. There 
was one fine, intelligent lad, long since grown up to 
distinction, attended this school. He was the only 
son of a widowed mother, who struggled hard to se- 
cure the comforts of life, and whose every exertion 
was put forth to promote the welfare of her dear son. 
The ambitious boy, full of maternal aflfection, strove 
P 



362 6CAKCITY OF LINEN. 

diligently to keep in advance of liis comrades, and^ 
in the laudable endeavor vt^as quite successful. His 
clothing was scanty, and although threadbare, was 
always clean and tidy. It so happened that he had 
but one shirt, and his mother wishing to wash it, one 
day proposed that he should stay at home that the 
said linen might undergo the necessary ablution. 
But no, he said he must not lose a day from school 
for so trifling a purpose as that. So he left off his 
shirt, buttoned up his coat as snug as possible, and 
away he marched to school without one. In the 
course of the day, some of the boys made the dis- 
covery that he had not this necessary appendage, and 
eagerly inquired how that had happened. He very 
honestly replied, that he had left it at home to be 
washed. " Well," said one, " why did you not put 
on another?" This was pressing the matter rather 
close home — perhaps a little too far. But being a 
champion for the truth, without mortification or em- 
barrassment, he answered with becoming gravity — 
" Why, do you think I have got a thousand shirts ? " 
And it is further added, without giving minute par- 
ticulars in the way of an inventory of the wardrobe 
of the first settlers of the country, that there were 
very many, who could not boast of having " a thou- 
sand shirts " apiece. 



PIONEER WEDDINGS. 

The '•''Reservation " was, at a very early day, re- 
sorted to as a place to make fortunes from the manu- 
facture of salt. A thriving village soon sprung up, 
which naturally enough received the name, " Salt 
Point," and this same " Point " can boast as many 
odd scenes and sayings as any other. There was a 
time when there was no magistrate or minister resi- 
ding nearer than Whitesborough, and when Whites- 
town included all western IN^ew York, in the county 
of Montgomery. At this period, General Asa Dan- 
forth was somewhat extensively engaged in " boiling 
salt." On a time while engaged in his business, a 
very simple, clever, honest Dutchman, applied to the 
general to marry him to his lady-love, Miss Katrine. 
The general, (then major,) expostulated with him, de- 
claring that he had no authority to marry people ; 
and should he perform the ceremony, it would not 
be legal or binding upon the parties. Time after 
time, for several days, he most vehemently impor- 
tuned the gallant major to marry him, declaring that 
he would not be put off. Danforth denied him, and 
he became still more importunate. It was in vain 



364 PIONEER •^^DDINGS. 

that he was told the ceremony must be performed by 
a minister or magistrate, in order to be legal. At 
last, a new idea seemed to break in upon his love- 
sick brain, and he exclaimed, " If you aint no min- 
ishter, nor machistrate, you he's my machor, and dat 
be chust so coot as if you was a chustiss." Dan forth, 
not exactly chiming in with his logic, still declined. 
The lover, not to be put off or frustrated in his plans, 
had recourse to the counsel of T. M. Wood, Esq. 

*' Marry them, Danforth," said the young lawyer; 
" I'll bear you out in it." Having all the legal ad- 
vice there was in the countr}", in his favor, and the 
din of the Dutchman continually ringing in his ears, 
and the fair one nothing loth, he reluctantly con- 
sented. All the young people were invited to attend 
the wedding, and in due time, assembled in their 
" Sunday best." An abundance of good things was 
provided for the occasion. All things being properly 
arranged, the quasi magistrate pronounced them " one 
bone and one beef," and concluded with, " what I, 
Major Danforth, joineth together, let tli-em not put 
asunder." 

It is needless to add that the young folks had a fine 
frolic and a jolly time of it. But what is best of all, 
the man and woman thus joined, lived happily to- 
gether for many yeai'S, and were separated only in 
death. 



PIONEER WEDDING. 365 



ANOTHER. 



Billy McGee was a deserter from the British gar- 
rison at Oswego, in 1793. Jenny Mulholland was a 
buxom lass, easily wooed and easier won — both emi- 
grants from the Emerald Isle. Billy was for having 
every thing done according to his own preconceived 
notions of military etiquette, whether they exactly 
tallied with the " regulations and articles of war," 
and the requirements of civil society, or not; while 
Jenny, good easy soul, was ready to comply with any 
form that should legally join her to her loving lord. 

Their marriage is recorded as having taken place 
on the first Monday of June, 1795, and the circum- 
stances of the wedding are thus described. A militia 
training was held at Foster's tavern. Eagle village. 
The company was paraded in the large yard in front 
of Foster's house, a hollow square was formed, within 
which the wedding party, with colors flying, fifes 
screaming and drums beating, marched, formed a 
line under the direction of the captain commanding, 
when the lovers were united in the solemn bands of 
wedlock, by Cyrus Kinne, Esq. 

Considering the simplicity of the times, the rare 
occurrence of such an event, the elevated position of 
the high contracting parties, and the practices then 
prevalent on such occasions, we cannot but infer that 
the witnesses and all present must have had a most 
splendid jollification. 



PIOl^EER COURTS. 

Pkevious to the organization of Onondaga county, 
courts were held for the county of Herkimer, in the 
church at Herkimer village. Col. Henri Staring was 
appointed first judge. He was a man possessed of 
many excellent qualities, but had never enjoyed the 
advantages of an education. Still, he was remark- 
able for honesty and integrity of purpose. Many 
amusing anecdotes are told of his mode of adminis- 
tering justice, some of which border hard upon the 
ludicrous. In 1Y93, one term of the courts for Her- 
kimer county was ordered by law to be held at 
Whitestown, at such place as the court itself should 
direct. The first court held under this provision was 
in the late Judge Sanger's barn, and the senior judge 
on that occasion was assisted by the late Judges 
White and Myers. Judge Piatt was acting clerk, 
and "William Colbraith, sherifi". Many of these gen- 
tlemen were great lovers of fun, particularly the 
sherifi". This term of the court was held late in the 
fall of the year, during a long time of cold, gloomy 
weather. Late one afternoon, while the wind and 
storm were driving through the cracks and crannies 
of their ill-constructed court-room, and while every 



IIONEEK COURTS. 367 

reasonable eifort was put in requisition to keep up 
the vital circulation above the freezing point, some 
of the suffering gentlemen of the bar had made an 
arrangement with the sheriff whereby a jug of spirits 
had been introduced into a sly corner of the barn, 
where, occasionally one and another of the said coun- 
selors withdrew from the turmoil of business, and re- 
freshed the inner man. It now became apparent to 
the court, that something of more importance than 
ordinary business was on foot, and mysteriously at- 
tracted the attention of the gentlemen of the bar to 
a certain corner, as if in earnest consultation on a 
matter of great moment. At. last a glimpse of the 
ominous vessel, as it was cleverly decanting into the 
capacious mouth of some gurgling barrister, was had 
by one of the dignified judges on the bench. The 
knowledge of a fact of such vital importance, created 
quite a sensation among the learned dignitaries of the 
bench, and was evidently a cause of great uneasiness. 
A private consultation was held, and the learned 
judges evidently were in a suffering condition for 
lack of some palatable elixir, to keep oft" the cold. 
At length the presiding judge announced to the shiv- 
ering litigants, jurors and counsel, that the court could 
see no good reason why they should sit still and freeze 
to death, and ordered the crier forthwith to adjourn 
the court. Instantly, before this semi-official could 
cry out a single " Hear ye ! " the notable Sheriff Col- 
braith jumped up, at the same time snatching the 
aforesaid jug from the lips of a sober-minded coun- 



368 PIONEER COTTRTS. 

selor who was heartily complimenting its contents, he 
held it out towards the bench and vociferously ex- 
claimed, "Oh! no, no, no, judge, we must not ad- 
journ yet; take a drink of spirits, judge, that will 
keep you warm ; not time to adjourn yet, judge — no, 
no." Suiting the action to the word, the tempting 
beverage was passed to His Honor, who received it 
with evident satisfaction, and after being saluted by 
each of tlie learned judges, the said jug was returned 
to its resting-place quite empty, the order for adjourn- 
ment was revoked, nobody was cold, and the order 
of business was cheerfully resumed.'^' 

The first court of .common pleas for Onondaga 
county, was ordered by law to be held at the house 
of Reuben Patterson, at Onondaga Hollow, in May, 
1794. The court, however, was convened and held 
in the corn-house of Asa Danforth, Esq. Seth Phelps 
was the presiding judge, and his associates, Messrs. 
Halsey, Richardson, Stevens and De Witt. Benja- 
min Ledyard was clerk, and John Harris, sheriff. 
Thomas R. Gould and Arthur Breeze, from Whites- 
town, were the only lawyers present, not one at that 
time having settled in Onondaga county. 

A court in the woods was indeed a novelty — some- 
thing new to many who had lived on the military 
tract for years without being considered, or consid- 
ering themselves within the jurisdiction of any par- 
ticular tribunal. At this time, there was but little 

* See Tracy's Men and Events. 



PIONEER COURTS. 369 

business of importance claiming the attention or time 
of the court, and after that little was partially dis- 
posed of, it was thought best while waiting for addi- 
tional business, to take a recess, and during the re- 
cess to get up some scheme for diversion, for time was 
likely to hang too heavy unless somehow employed. 
The members of the court, bar, clients, jurors and 
witnesses, all, except a few, entered into the scheme 
with a hearty good will, and it was decided to have 
a horse-race. Proclamation was accordingly made 
out of doors after the adjournment of the court, that 
a horse-race would come ofi' that afternoon. The 
sheriff was said to be of the law and order party, and 
with the advice of one or two of the judges, was de- 
termined, if possible, to prevent the race and conse- 
quent infringement of the statute in such case made 
and provided. Being backed by several influential 
citizens of high moral character, he and his friends 
had strong hopes of effecting their object. On that 
day it has been said that the sheriff wore a peculiar 
kind of belt, as a badge of office, to which was at- 
tached a small dress sword, like those worn by gen- 
tlemen of the old school many years before. 

A large crowd had assembled to see the race, and 
when the horses were brought on to the ground, it 
was announced, that Judge such-an-one owned one 
horse, Judge so-and-so, a favorite mare, and Esq. no- 
matter-for-the-name, a third. A.11 these gentlemen, by 
the way, were representatives of the exalted pu- 
rity and dignity of the ermine of the newly organ- 
P* 24 



370 PIONEER COUETS. 

ized county of Onpndaga. Judges, time-keepers, &c., 
for the race-had been selected, and everything ready, 
or nearly so, for starting. The sheriff had in the 
mean time found a copy of the act prohibiting horse- 
racing under a severe penalty, and before the word 
"^o/" was given, he mounted a stump and com- 
menced reading the law, occasionally haranguing 
the gaping multitude in the most energetic style, on 
the highest possible key. Little attention, however, 
was paid to the threats or admonitions of the sheriff, 
and the said functionary was seriously interrupted in 
what he conceived to be his duty, by sundry uncouth 
noises, that fairly drowned his voice in the horrible 
din, and rendered perfectly nugatory all efforts of his, 
towards keeping the peace, and the law from infrac- 
tion. Finding that no progress could be made in that 
way, and being strongly backed by friends, the val- 
iant executive of the county resolved to stop the race 
at all hazards. He, thereupon, abandoned the stump, 
placed himself in front of the horses, drew his sword 
and commenced flourishing the formidable weapon in 
the most tlireatening attitude. At this stage of affairs, 
several sturdy sportsmen, more intent that the race 
should proceed, than the officer w^as that it should not, 
seized the said sheriff, and forcibly carried him be- 
yond the bounds of the race-course and there held 
him firmly till the word " go ! " was given. The hor- 
ses started off in fine style, and three cheers were 
given for the success of the race, and the triumph of 
the sportsmen. The worthy sheriff was advised to 



PIONEER COURTS. 371 

restrain an exhibition of his wrath, until after the 

race was decided. The favorite mare of Judge 

proved to be the successful winner, which fact wlien 
announced was received with the most enthusiastic 
eclat. All things were done honorably and to the 
entire satisfaction of all parties, except the discom- 
fited sheriff", and a few of his most ardent friends and 
coadjutoi-s, who swore vengeance upon all concerned. 
It proved to bo a much easier matter to reconcile the 
difficulty with the disaff'ected, than at first might be 
supposed. The fortunate owner of the winning mare 
proposed, as a final and equitable adjustment of all 
difibrences, to furnish egg-nog for the company, 
which proposition was accepted as ample satisfaction 
for the violated law, and the healing of sundry 
wounded consciences. All parties were merry over 
the exciting cheer, and next morning the court again 
opened in due form and with becoming solemnity, as 
if nothing more than ordinary in the transaction of 
business had transpired. 



FRONTIER PUNISHMENT. 

Previous to 1794, there was but little business to 
be done in justices' courts, and but few justices of the 
peace to sit in judgment. The British at that time 
held possession of Oswego. There was also a man 
named " N^ick," then living at " Salt Point^'* who had 
the reputation of being ugly and evil inclined. He 
made it a regular business to keep along the shore of 
Lake Ontario, from Oswego to Sackett's Harbor, and 
down along the St. Lawrence, for the avowed pur- 
pose of piloting deserters from the British army in 
Canada, to the settlement at Onondaga. Instead of 
that, however, he usually decoyed them to the fort 
at Oswego, upon which he received eight dollars per 
man as a reward, and the soldier was most certainly 
tried by court martial, and if found guilty of deser- 
tion, was invariably shot. Many an unsuspecting 
victim had been thus misled, and forfeited his life in 
consequence. These were actions, so base that, upon 
reachino; the ears of the honor lovins; heroes of " Salt 
Point," it was by them resolved that Kick must be 
brought to account for his unmanly conduct. Ac- 
cordingly he was duly reminded that, although there 
might be no justice of the peace near, yet if he con- 
tinued his practices, justice should be done to him. 



FKO]SmER PUNISHMENT. 373 

!N"ot long afterwards he was found conducting an- 
other deserter to Oswego. He was arraigned before 
the "Salt Point" tribunal, and sentenced "to he 
toiled in a salt-lcettley Upon consideration, however, 
the sentence was commuted for thirty-nine lashes on 
the bare back with a cat-o-nine-tails, which sentence 
was executed to the letter of Salt Point law. Nick 
begged like a good fellow to be released, and promised 
an amendment of life, had his back well washed with 
brine, and was finally let go, upon his word of honor 
never to repeat his former wicked actions. 

The love of gain was uppermost in Nick's mind, 
and it was not long before he was caught at his old 
tricks again. He had taken a deserter into the fort 
under cover of the night, and next morning the 
poor fellow was marched out and shot. This was 
more than could be peaceably borne ; all hands were 
highly exasperated, and Nick was saluted with a coat 
of tar and feathers, under the eye and direction of 
most of the inhabitants of the country, who enjoyed 
the mode of punishment far better than poor Nick 
could. Nick finding public opinion altogether against 
him, his movements closely watched, and punishment 
certain, concluded it was safest to conduct himself 
with more propriety in future, which he always did 
afterwards. 



A WORD AT PARTING. 

Gentle Header : — It is possible that these Lights 
Am) LmEs may fall into the hands of some few per- 
sons, in whose minds they will awaken a recollection 
of SCENES and incidents, which, through length of 
time, they had well nigh forgotten. 

To some, they may afibrd companionship in their 
leisure hours, when withdrawn from the cares of life 
and the pursuits of business. 

To others, perhaps, they may become an allure- 
ment, or inducement, to momentary relaxation from 
severer study and reflection. 

Truly, not in vain will have been this undertaking, 
if the foregoing pages shall have suggested or recalled 
in any quarter, one train of pleasant thought, or 
infused or revived one earnest feeling of historic 
affection. 

If either gratification or instruction can be derived 
from the perusal of these pages ; if they are so fortu- 
nate as to attract the attention of the earnest reader, 
and secure the approbation of the good, in their cho- 
sen hours — then they will not have been penned with 
regret, and an anxious mind will be relieved from 
painful solicitude. 



)>-• I 



^^t.}!^ 



A WORD AT P^VRTINO. 375 

To you who have had the patience to wade through 
this book— thanks. ^ 

Adieu, my friends, adieu. 



THE END. 



,/ % 

^ 



^'^^"- 



bo^ 


















\^ 



^ • - ^ »Ji^ 



- v^ 







..^:/^ 



n\''' 






'^^ ^v^' 






<:^, 



f-^ 






^ 






.-X" 



.-lV 



- 



V%^"^•^'^'^ 



=*c^' 



.^^ > 









.-i- 



*<?, 



/^, a\ 









,0- ^ 



x^-^ -^^^ 













LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 221 369 2 



I'^i:- 






















